Queen Kalasin
by Lady Berenice
Summary: FINISHED! Sequel to 'Kalasin's betrothal' The continuing adventures of Jonathan and Thayet's eldest daughter as Queen of Sarain. Followed by 'A Meeting of Magics'. AU since the release of 'Trickster's Choice'
1. Winter Chill

Queen Kalasin

Note: Okay, I know I said that the sequel would probably take place primarily in someone else's fantasy world (Does my unnamed Empire count? Any suggestions?), but since it's only a year later, it shouldn't stuff things up too much (fingers crossed). Same deal with disclaimers, as in Kalasin's betrothal. Tortall, all its characters, settings, past histories, etc, is the property of Tamora Pierce. It is not my intention to claim them nor to use them in any way counter to the wishes of their creator. 

**Prologue – Winter Chill**

_Bersone, the Empire, sometime in the middle of winter_

Queen Kalasin of Sarain slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. Even after a week in the Imperial capital, she was still surprised each morning to find the marble floors perfectly warm, and her apartments at a comfortable temperature, even though a blizzard howled outside. 

Yevgen wasn't there, of course. Since they had arrived at his childhood home for the coronation of his eldest sister, he had spent much of his time catching up with old friends, and roaming around his old haunts. He was usually gone long before she woke up and Kally rarely saw him before the formal Court entertainment in the evening. 

Kally sighed as she traced abstract patterns in the glass, marveling at how she could not feel the snow, even as it buffeted against the outer walls. Yevgen had explained how it was done, that the window was in fact several layers of glass, each with a thin layer of air in between for insulation. 

Yevgen…she sighed. After more than a year of marriage, he still treated her with the polished, elegant courtesy he had at their meeting. It could have been worse, she supposed, he could have been a complete boor, or neglectful, or patronizing. 

Yevgen was none of those things. They had what Buri would have called a 'good working relationship', they were friends, trusted each other, cared for each other. In their first year as rulers of Sarain they had managed to rebuild much of the capital, re-establish a workable currency (Imperial coinage), and secure the trade routes for at least large caravans to cross the country. They had also managed to broker agreements between lowlander Saren and the K'mir and Doi tribes – which was far more than any ruler had done for well-nigh a quarter of a century. Hence, despite grumblings about the 'foreign' blood in the new monarchs (Yevgen could trace his lineage back eight centuries without a drop of non-Imperial blood, while Kally was half-Tortallan, quarter K'mir and quarter Saren) the change in power in Sarain was by and large accepted with relief among the long-suffering people. 

After one year as Queen of Sarain, Kalasin could see the next few decades spread in front of her. She imagined that even twenty years hence, Yevgen would probably still rise when she entered a room and glare the other courtiers into doing so, and she would know exactly what he would do when faced with any thorny diplomatic issue (as he already knew what she would do), but still have no idea what he was really like. 

She knew she ought not to be dissatisfied. Yevgen was pretty much as good as they come as far as politically-arranged suitors were concerned. He was barely a year older than her, handsome, intelligent, and had very good manners, and absolutely no problems with her martial and equestrian interests. Of course, considering that nearly every woman in his close acquaintance was a knight, that was hardly going to be an issue. Kally had long since seen the irony of the situation, that, having surrendered her girlhood dream of knighthood to facilitate a political marriage, her chosen suitor came from a land with a centuries-long tradition of knighthood for both sexes. 

She laughed at her pickiness, wanting Yevgen to be just that little bit more perfect, when she knew that he was already beyond her wildest dreams when she envisioned an arranged bridegroom. He respected her intelligence, sought her opinions on matters of governance, and treated her with courtesy and consideration. Had he been a Tortallan squire or knight, she would have quite happily allowed him into her very select circle of swains. She shook her head as she moved off to her dressing room. She had more than many a young woman of noble birth could possibly hope for – respect, courtesy, real authority. She could not possibly hope for the passionate, romantic love of her husband as well. Yevgen had been scrupulously honest. He offered her friendship, and partnership, because that was all he could give. 

It wasn't his fault that Kalasin had long since fallen hopelessly in love with him.   
  


_Okay. Please, please, tell me what you think about this. The story isn't going to be as heavily TP as 'Kalasin's bethrothal', and it will focus primarily on Kally and Yevgen and their developing relationship. I've never written something this close to mush before so please forgive me if it gets to cloying._   



	2. Reintroductions

_Wow, thanks for the rousing reception. I had no idea how many people were reading my previous story. Please don't hesitate to email me if you have anything to say that doesn't fit in the little box at the bottom. If it does fit into the little box, please fill it in!_

**Reintroductions**

"You know, kingship has really changed you. Or it could be marriage. Either way, you're different now. More mature. More confident, somehow," Dama Radanae Gavrillian of the Imperial Diplomatic Service scrutinized her friend and the Empress-to-be's younger brother with a dispassionate eye. They'd been in the same graduating class of the Imperial Knights' Academy. 

"Thank you," Yevgen said dryly, accepting a mug of hot spiced cider to ward off the chill from his cold sleigh-ride. 

Like most junior diplomats who did not need to impress anyone but extremely minor functionaries in private, Radanae's offices were small and drafty. Her considerable private wealth and enormous family fortune, however, had rendered her more fortunate then most, with a charcoal brazier, expensive wine warmer (with just as expensive a collection of wines, ciders, and spices visible behind the desk) and large, soft rugs taking up space in her already cramped office. However, if he knew her well, Radanae was too clever to allow her wealth to be a source of overt envy, and he had a feeling that her office had become the unofficial gathering place for all the younger diplomats, assured of warmth, something hot to drink and maybe a pastry or two whenever they dropped in. 

The Tortallan trip that had resulted in his marriage to Princess Kalasin of Conté and ascension to the throne of Sarain had brought changes to others as well. His friend Radanae's promotion from diplomatic aide to junior diplomat in her own right was only one of many changes in status among his former acquaintance in the capital. 

"How's been Ris coping?" he asked bluntly. He'd had only a few chances to speak to his eldest sister in private since his arrival a week ago, hardly conducive to deep, meaningful, family discussions. 

"As well as may be expected. Corin is good for her." Radanae grinned at his look, "Yes, I know you think he's a bit of a wet blanket, but you can't deny that he is steady. He'll keep her grounded and focused." Yevgen did not know his recently-wed eldest sister's husband terribly well, being several years behind them at the Academy, but evidently Radanae did. Much to his regret, he and Kally had not been able to attend the wedding due to the unusually early closure of Chitral Pass, unseasonal storms, and a minor crisis along the Saren-Gallan border. They'd had to settle for a mage-link to the ceremony, and to speak to the principals. 

"Kay should help as soon as she gets here." Radanae continued, referring to Yevgen's twin sister and now the Imperial Heir, Princess Berenice, "The Qsendil River is frozen upstream so she's coming by horseback and sleigh." 

There was a comfortable silence, broken only when Radanae felt the need to throw another handful of sweetly scented wood onto the brazier. 

"Have you finished mopping up Nhqetl affair yet?" Yevgen asked, referring to a rather serious security breach during his wedding the previous year when someone had tried to kill both he and Kalasin. 

"Yes, finally," Radanae leant over and unscrewed the tap of the wine warmer to get some more cider. She tasted it, and then used tongs to move another coal from the brazier to the little dish under the urn to get the cider hotter. "It was more complicated than any of us had ever thought. It is fairly amusing, though, how much wasted effort went into that stupid conspiracy, when it was so patent that there was absolutely no need for it." 

"Good. Nothing like looking over your shoulder for assassins to ruin a perfectly nice holiday," 

"Rather." 

There was another silence, longer this time, long enough for Radanae to rummage in her desk drawer and bring out a small box of cookies from the capital's most famous bakery. 

"How's Kalasin?" she asked, at last. 

"Fine, I think." 

"You _think_?" Radanae raised an eyebrow. 

"Well, I can't know exactly," he said defensively, "it's not as though we're all that close." 

"Oh? Do tell," without even a diplomatic attempt at disinterest, Radanae laid aside her mug and looked at her friend with undisguised curiosity. "We'll just lay aside the fact that you've been married and living together in that gloriously beautiful castle for a year, building up a country almost from scratch, and somehow still managing to have the time to get caught doing things in the baths that would have got three months stable duty back at the Academy, won't we?" 

He blushed hotly at that, but didn't bother with any outraged outbursts. He knew what the 'Imperial Diplomatic Service' was a euphemism for, and, in retrospect, he would have been more surprised if somebody in the Service didn't know. It was hardly a secret in Sarain. The unfortunate interruption of a bathhouse attendant meant that certain private details of the royal couple were still doing the rounds in Saren taverns. 

"We'd had too much to drink," he muttered sourly, "it was just after we'd finally managed to wrangle an agreement on pasture between the K'mir and the lowlanders. You know how much of a nightmare it is getting that lot to sit in the same room without killing each other, much less shake hands on a ten-year deal." 

Radanae raised an eyebrow at that, as though she didn't quite believe him, but was letting him get away with his delusion. He did not back away from her scrutiny. "No…it's not just the marriage or the kingship…though I agree that's part of it. It's something else. Something I don't often see." 

"Radanae, do you mind? I did not take a sleigh ride out here at the crack of dawn to be analyzed by the woman who used to say that my essays were histrionic tripe, thank you very much!" 

"Then why did you come out here?" she asked. 

He hesitated, then looked around. "What have you got on Barnesh's refortification of the old forts on my western border?" 

Radanae gave him a look that congratulated him on his quick thinking (for she was sure that he had simply chickened out of discussing a far more interesting topic) and led him to a place where they could have a more private conversation.   
  


Kally had just finished dressing when she heard the outer door of the suite open and footsteps on the marble floor. Expecting it to be yet another court functionary deputized to show her around the Palace compound or familiarize her with Imperial protocol, she left the dressing room, to find that it was her husband. 

He'd obviously been out in the storm. While an attendant had probably removed his outer layers, his hair was wet with melting snowflakes, and his nose was red with cold. He carried a large box that smelled delicious and a pile of papers. 

"Oh," he looked mildly surprised that she was already up and dressed. Kally had despised getting out of bed in winter, especially during a snowstorm, the previous year in Sarain. She was hardly going to tell him that the main reason she hadn't wanted to get out of bed then was because he was in it. "Good morning. Umm…err…. I've just been over to the Diplomatic Offices to see what they think about Barnesh on the western border…umm…I picked up some pastries on the way back." He laid the box and the papers on the dining table in their suite and made his way quickly to his own dressing room. 

Kally allowed herself a moment to admire his back view before sitting down and perusing the paperwork. They had 'classified' stamped on them, and showed sketches and calculations of their western border with Maren. The box contained a dozen delightful-smelling cakes, pastries, scrolls, and other baked goods, all of them unfamiliar. She supposed that they must be specialties of the capital. A knock at the door heralded the entrance of a horde of the servants that served the Imperial family, bearing trays of cups, pots, and unfamiliar flasks, and pushing a trolley on which lay several more covered trays. Kally stood as they came towards her and quickly moved the papers out of the way as they began to efficiently set the table, place the cakes on stands, and vanish out of the room with bows before she could so much as thank them. 

In his dressing room, Yevgen heard the whirlwind that was the Palace Staff as he hurriedly changed his clothes. Winter clothing, in his mind, might have been warm, but it was dreadfully inconvenient. At least his valet was taking care of his overcoat and gloves, for he was having enough trouble with his tunic –high necked, double breasted, with silver buttons running from hip to neck. It came to his knees, though there were slits on either side that came to his hips for ease of movement. He paused a minute to get tangled up in his braces, before peeling off the doeskin breeches and his knee-length boots and leaving them all in a mess in the middle of the room for his valet to clean up. He had planned to have breakfast set up, and be changed before he woke her up. Kally never got up early in winter. He should know. 

_What is bothering you?_ A part of his mind asked _She's perfectly entitled to change her habits._

_I know, but it was a bit of a surprise coming in when she was already dressed._

_Why? It's not as though you don't know very well what she looks like in the nude. Are you that disappointed you couldn't get back into bed with her?_

There was no use arguing with himself, particularly when at least half his mind was in the gutter. Muttering things about being juvenile, Yevgen quickly selected a clean shirt, tunic and breeches, and quickly laced up a pair of soft indoor boots before returning to the main room, where Kally was again seated at the table, managing to clear a small space in the jumble of crockery and glassware to peruse the sketches. She looked up as he entered. 

"You know," she began, "I've never seen you wear those before." She certainly would have noticed before. The breeches fit like a second skin, and the tunic was similarly closely tailored. Back in Sarain, both of them wore simpler clothing, in keeping with their task in rebuilding the country rather than squandering what little surplus there was in the treasury. Imperial funds, as well as Kally's dowry and Yevgen's personal fortune, were hardly to be sneezed at, but establishing a country took a great deal of money. 

He looked down at his attire. "Oh," he shrugged, "fashions change here so quickly, so I picked up the trick from Kay. She doesn't bother packing clothes to wear here when she needs to come. She just sends her measurements to the Palace tailors a few weeks before she leaves and she has a whole wardrobe ready when she gets here. It saves on packing." 

Kally was feeling a little silly at having ordered a few more gowns from seamstresses at home before she came. She was already quite aware that she dressed very differently from most of the other young female aristocrats. 

Yevgen noticed her expression as she sat down. "You know, I've seen at least three versions of that dress in the windows of the city's most exclusive couturiers this morning alone," he said lightly, as he uncovered plates that contained all manner of strange food. "You've quite taken the Bersone fashion scene by storm." He concluded, examining the pots. He turned to her with a breathtaking smile. "I just realized that you haven't had a full traditional breakfast yet, so I thought I'd come up and surprise you with one." 

The breakfast had familiar things, like ham, sausages, and eggs, though the herbs and spices were unfamiliar, and she'd never seen eggs cooked quite so many ways. There were also stranger things that she'd never thought to see for breakfast, like delicate hot smoked fish, and a range of meat and vegetable stuffings in mysterious silky white pastry, which Yevgen explained was a sort of steamed rice paper. There was also a wide range of breads, cakes, tarts and pastries, steamed, fried and baked, with more fillings than she had ever imagined. The pots contained teas, coffees, hot chocolate, spiced cider and mulled wine. Kally wondered aloud how they were supposed to finish it. 

Yevgen laughed, a little sheepishly. "Well, usually, there are meant to be more people at a traditional breakfast – it comes from feeding hordes of starving knights - but I wanted you to try as much as possible. Good breakfast chefs are quite rare – you'll notice that I couldn't manage to persuade one to come to the castle." He grinned. Problems with the kitchen had become a comfortable joke between them. Sarain was not exactly known for its gourmet cooking, and previous attempts by both the King and the Queen to import chefs had ended with more trouble than a decent dinner really warranted. At present, they were making do with a local, though both the King and Queen usually started their meal only after making sure that nobody else in the Great Hall was gagging. 

"The sketches are quite interesting. Despite Barnesh's protestations that he's only restoring historical monuments, I don't quite buy it," Kally spread the pictures out after a cleaning crew came in and cleared the table as swiftly as it had been laid. Yevgen took it all in his stride. Kally sighed and wished that the domestic staff at home were quite as competent. 

"Neither do I. There are just a few too many gaps for catapults in the walls for it to be purely historical, don't you think?" Yevgen moved one in particular, where the 'classified' stamp was extremely obvious. He met Kally's eyes. "Yes, I do have clearance to get these, don't keep looking at me like that. We've got a meeting with Ris to discuss this in the afternoon. I was going to tell you last night, but you were already asleep when I got in." 

She hadn't been, but she was ridiculously relieved to note that he had been only exhausted, and did not smell of either perfume or wine. 

"What do you think?" she asked as all the sketches came into view. It was very much a rhetorical question, as it was clear that from these sketches and what their own operatives were reporting, the string of garrison forts on the Maren border was not just for show. Optimistically, the forts might be no more than part of a planned restoration of border security, especially with the continual threat of Saren instability spilling over the border, and the ever-present refugee problems associated with such instability. However, if it was so, there had been two decades for Barnesh to do so. Why restore just when Sarain was stable again, and had the backing of the largest Empire in the known world, larger even than Carthak? That Maren posed any threat at all to the Empire was laughable. That the Empire could easily take Maren, with or without border fortifications on the Saren front, was easily apparent. 

"I think that he's playing a far deeper game. I went and had a talk to Radanae Gavrillian this morning – do you remember her? She used to be Ambassador Lansherry's aide in Tortall..." 

"Oh, how is she?" Kally interrupted, "and 'used to be'?" 

"She got a promotion after she got back to Bersone. Full-fledged diplomat, the youngest in the Service. Her House is still working out how to congratulate her. Gavrillian's all full of fighters, so they're completely baffled as much as proud at how they managed to produce a diplomat. She hasn't been at the social functions this week as she's got a cold, but she's ordered me to tell you that if you ever want 'girl talk' – whatever that is," he made a comical face, "you're more than welcome to go to her, since Kay and the other female knights who were in Tortall last year won't be here until nearer to the coronation." 

"That's nice of her," Kally said neutrally. She did know Radanae, and the rest of her husband's friends who had come to Tortall, slightly, but she couldn't really imagine exchanging giggling confidences with the knight. 

"It's more than being pleasant," Yevgen said softly, "She didn't say it in so many words, but she is involved in the Imperial Intelligence Service, so by 'girl talk' she doesn't just mean where the best couturiers or the finest jewelers are, though I have no doubt that you will hear her very lengthy opinions on that, if you're so minded." 

Kally understood him perfectly. She had a feeling that their morning meeting wasn't just about reminiscing on old times and locating old friends. The sketches on the table between them were probably just the physical evidence of a very lengthy discussion on the characteristics, strengths and weaknesses of the Maren King. Kally smiled at how King Barnesh had once been half-heartedly considered as a potential husband, though it hadn't been very funny at the time. He was famed for his intelligence and cunning, but he was also older than her father, outlived four wives, each younger than the last, and had a very low reputation among female servants. Her smiled faded as she remembered her younger sister Lianne, still unbethrothed, though that was due more to her parents unwilling to make a choice from among so many unpromising choices than any lack of offers. 

No, she vastly preferred her personable, intelligent, charming, handsome Yevgen (she knew she was in trouble when she noticed how many adjectives she was using) to anyone else, especially King Barnesh. On a more practical level, Yevgen was richer, and it wouldn't have ever occurred to him to stop her doing anything she wanted to, unless it was phenomenally stupid (though that hadn't happened yet). Even if he treated her as partner and friend instead of lover, despite the very persuasive physical evidence to the contrary.   
  
  


In her office, where the brazier didn't quite ward off the chill, Dama Radanae Gavrillian took a break from her extremely boring paperwork to mull over her conversation with the King of Sarain that morning. She recalled what she had seen at the State Dinner several nights ago as she passed on an upper gallery on the way to her Palace apartments (as heir to one of the most powerful Houses, Radanae took full advantage of the suite her family always kept in the Palace. Her parents, warriors to the core, despised social functions with a passion and preferred the family 'townhouse' – a huge mansion – in the city proper. They were, however, more than happy for her to live there, where it was closer to the Diplomatic Offices). Radanae began to chuckle as she finally put it together. Neither Yevgen nor Kalasin were particularly demonstrative people, so it hadn't been as obvious as it was for some. She wondered if Kalasin knew that her husband was in love with her. Then, as she went to refill her mug, and recalling a younger Yevgen's childish assertion that one can fall in love but once in a lifetime, wondered if he realized it himself. 

She stirred raspberry-blossom honey into her cider as she contemplated the situation. It wasn't really a subject she could discuss with Rislyn, close as she and the Empress-to-be were these days (Radanae was an unofficial adviser), unless it was very late at night, they were very bored, overdosed on chocolate, and in dire need of a diversion. However, the same could not be said of Princess Berenice, the Empress's younger sister, and Yevgen's twin. Soon, she and her assistant, Radanae's best friend and former roommate Dama Justinia Ferox, would be arriving in the capital for the coronation. For very obvious reasons, Kay's other assistant, Dama Felara Eriel, would be remaining in their northern base, literally minding the fort (Lara was Yevgen's former lover. While they had ended their affair when Yevgen's betrothal plans were announced, nobody saw any point in making social situations more awkward than they really had to be). The three of them had managed to interfere in far more complex things than a simple romance before. 

She smiled as she sipped her drink. This winter, things were going to be more interesting that the usual regime of clothes-fittings, overeating, and cold-catching. She could hardly wait.   



	3. Lunch with an Empress

  
_I have shamelessly plagiarized a line from my favorite 'classic' author, Jane Austen. Sincere apologies to Miss Austen._

**Lunch with an Empress**

The soon-to-be Empress Rislyn of the Imperial House of Delmaran, handsome, clever and enlightened, with an unblemished reputation and a pleasant disposition, seemed to exemplify the ideal ruler of the vast Empire, even by the lofty standards, by and large, that had been set by her predecessors; and had lived nearly twenty five years in the world knowing that she would one day be the ruler of that Empire. 

Kalasin knew her sister-in-law only slightly. She had come to Sarain for the coronation of Yevgen and Kalasin the previous winter, and had seemed a pleasant, friendly, if slightly aloof young woman, genuinely fond of her younger siblings. In royal families, that usually only meant that they did not send assassins after each other, but Kally did see that the three Imperial children were quite close. Though he never even intimated it, Yevgen was much happier having the sort of sibling relationship characterized warm letters exchanged across half a continent. He had spent much of his life in the shadow of his more outgoing twin, and, for reasons of survival, both had consciously taken second place to their elder sister. No matter how much he might complain after a long day wrangling with equally stubborn lowlanders and K'mir, Kally knew that he enjoyed his comparative independence with her in Sarain. 

The Empress's cavernous complex of private reception rooms, studies, and offices for her staff were quite close to the Imperial Family's living quarters where Kally and Yevgen were staying, so it was a short walk to join Rislyn and her husband Corin for lunch. Kally had no idea how they were going to manage lunch after such an enormous breakfast, but Yevgen seemed to have no problems with it. He appeared to have finished all the roaming and catching up that he wanted to do in the previous week, and instead spent the rest of the morning showing her around parts of the Palace complex that she hadn't seen yet. She felt ridiculously pleased that he _did_ know where she'd been with the faceless, polite guides she'd had over the last week. He explained that most knights who weren't actually stationed at the Palace did not tend to come to Court over the winter. Unlike Tortall, where winter was the social season, winter for Imperial knights was a time to prepare for the year ahead, whether it was specialist training in different terrain, or planning their investments or spring planting. 

The set social season, such as it was (for Yevgen explained that there were functions at the Palace all year round), instead was concentrated around a few weeks each summer, when the year's new knights would demonstrate their talents, and hopefully be granted knighthood by the Empress. In the Empire, graduation from the Academy and consequent knighting, was probably the single most important event in the life of an aristocrat, namely as, without knighthood, one wasn't considered a proper member of the aristocratic class, with the considerable privileges and responsibilities that entailed. It was the official entry into one's House as a full member, the formal acknowledgement of adulthood, and one's debut upon the betrothal-market (for the few that bothered with formal vows), all rolled into a single ceremony. 

Therefore, he finished (by this time he was running somewhat short of breath), he hadn't been able to find any off-duty old friends who knew the Palace better than he to show her around while he caught up with on-duty friends, and tidied up those more personal aspects relating to the sudden passing of the Empress Vanaria, that related to him. Those mainly concerned things like his share of the private Delmaran fortune (as opposed to the Imperial Treasury, which was all Rislyn's, and the trust fund that had been set up for him and to which he already had access). He'd also finally finished wrangling with his banker to transfer what remained of the legacy he'd inherited from his late father to Sarain. Cornelian Seferius might have been a very useful financial watchdog for a young prince who had very good taste in clothes and horses, but he was rather over-fusty for a new King with a country to literally build up from scratch. Yevgen was perfectly aware that Sarain wasn't much of an investment opportunity, but, as he finally (eloquently) bellowed at the older man, he wasn't an investor, he was a King. 

That shut the banker up. Of the considerable fortune left by the Empress Vanaria's Consort, most of the real estate – mines, farms, forests, pastureland, an impressive portfolio of residential, industrial, and commercial leases, as well as more than a few trade routes, had been left to Kay, who spent much of her time in the North where those interests were concentrated anyway. Yevgen got the entirety of the ready cash, plus collections of art and horses (and the stud farm that went with the horses). The art was renegotiated with his sisters for more cash, all of which (minus two years worth of clothes and horses) was now in the Saren treasury. 

It wasn't exactly the most romantic of conversations, but then again, Kally couldn't recall if they'd ever had a romantic conversation – they always had too much to talk about regarding Sarain. She heaved a little inward sigh as Yevgen sprouted on about whether it would be better to establish a linked postal service first, or perhaps if they should establish an irregular cavalry group like her mother's Riders? It could be worse, she told herself, he might never ask my opinion on things, keep me locked away and just trot me out every now and again to keep the K'mir happy. Why do I always have to think of how it could be so much better? 

"Kally?" Yevgen's voice interrupted her reverie. "Are you alright? I thought the Riders thing could go first, because it might take a while to establish a suitable herd of message horses and to get the roads to a reasonable standard. What do you think?" 

She must have said something worrying, for he looked at her with concern then and pulled her into an alcove where there was a cunningly hidden padded seat. "Are you alright?" he repeated, sounding anxious. "You've been a bit quiet lately." 

"No, no," Kally waved a hand. "I was just thinking about the idea with the Riders." She said quickly. "We'll have to make sure that there's a visibly open recruiting and training system, though, or the lowlanders will be complaining that it's K'mir dominated, or vice versa." 

He nodded. "I hadn't thought of that." He exhaled softly, "Well, if you're sure you're feeling okay…" he trailed off. "I…" he began, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a colorless court functionary. 

"Your Royal Majesties?" the woman's voice was dull and bored, "If you so please, her Imperial Highness the Princess Rislyn and his Excellency Sir Corin request the pleasure of your Royal Majesties' company for lunch." 

Yevgen sighed and rose from the seat, reflexively holding out a hand to help Kally up. One of the more stiff-necked ones, he thought. Most had begun to call Rislyn 'Imperial Majesty' already. 

Kally didn't really need the help, but she appreciated his gesture, automatic as it was. She knew that he only did it for her – she had a feeling that all his female friends – knights to the last woman – would have looked askance at the suggestion that they were incapable of getting up from a padded seat. Then again, so would have Kally in ordinary circumstances. She realized that she was making absolutely no sense whatsoever and resolved to put an end to that line of thought.   
  
  


By then, they had reached the drawing room where they were to have lunch with the soon-to-be Empress and her Consort. 

"Wonderful to have a chance to speak in private finally," Rislyn greeted them warmly as they were seated and Corin dismissed the surplus servants. 

Sir Corin Neshan was a handsome, elegant man in his late twenties, with thick dark hair that curled slightly, and blue-green eyes. 

"How have you been finding the capital, Kalasin?" Corin asked, his voice a pleasant baritone, "I understand that it's your first visit." 

"Yes, it is," Kalasin answered she started on some unfamiliar-looking vegetables. While what she had tried of high Imperial cuisine so far was pleasant, very little of it was recognizable. "However, I haven't seen much of the city outside of the Palace." 

"Haven't you?" Rislyn raised an eyebrow. "Yevgen, why don't you show Kalasin around sometime before the coronation? We can't run the fountains in this weather, but there are ice-sculptures and snow-castles in the parks, and I have ordered the whole hot-chestnuts and mulled cider thing. Keeps the quiet when there are so many more people in the city." She explained. 

"I was going to, Rislyn, but, in case you haven't noticed, there have been storms every day since we arrived." Yevgen abandoned his usually exemplary manners to mumble through a mouthful of crisp-fried quail. Recalling those manners, he swallowed before continuing, "In case you've forgotten, I've been rather engaged with Master Seferius lately, not to mention that little matter with Barnesh slobbering on my border!" 

"Is that so?" Rislyn's voice was amused. 

Too late, Kally realized that her previous slightly teasing tones were no more than an older sister's right to annoy a younger brother, not any real malice. 

Rislyn sighed. "I'm perfectly aware that Barnesh is a slippery character. Those little rocks on your border aren't to be sneezed at, I know. Did you know that he's recruiting very heavily for militia units in his eastern fiefs?" 

"No," Yevgen looked rather displeased. "But it doesn't make sense though. Surely he doesn't think that any force he could gather would be much against the Swords?" He gave the nickname for the combined forces of Imperial Army, Navy, and the elite squads that were technically the Empress's bodyguard but were closer to a sort of police force-cum-commando unit. Not that Rislyn would consider them her private bully-boys and girls, but she could not deny that certain of her predecessors had done so. 

"I don't think it's meant as a serious threat." Rislyn said, buttering a roll. "Barnesh is trying to make us see more than what's there. Our emissaries last year…shall we say…did not mention certain facts, such as…" 

"Geography?" Kalasin interrupted with a smile. Over the last year, she had learned from her husband just how vast the Empire and its resources truly were. When the Imperial delegation had visited Tortall, until the time came for them to offer troops for a minor war against Scanra, even those at court had thought that it was an Empire like Carthak – large, certainly, wealthy, and possessed of a considerable army, but not nearly as powerful as it truly was. It stood far greater chance of any significant trouble from within than from any of its neighbors. 

"That's one way to put it," Rislyn poured herself some wine and offered Kally some. "Barnesh, as we see it, is reacting to what he perceives as some sort of competent leadership on his eastern front," she nodded to Kally and Yevgen as servants discreetly changed their plates and set out a light dessert of poached fruit and sweetened marscapone cheese. 

"Which is all credit to you two," Rislyn continued, sprinkling cinnamon on top of her serving, "that he feels that even after one year that you've managed to bring Sarain into some sort of reasonable nation-state thing after twenty-odd years of war, and worth reinforcing borders against should you get any funny ideas about his wheat fields. Yes, I shall have the Service keep a further eye on it, but so far, we've no indications that it's anything more than a very enthusiastic belated round of renovations. Yes, I know what you're about to say, Evie, I do know you spoke to Gavrillian this morning. The upgrade and the increased recruitment are causes for further attention, I quite agree about that, but if Barnesh wants to expand his borders, he'll look west rather than east." She caught Kally's curious glance, then continued. "We have quite reliable intelligence that the King of Tusaine has finally gone completely mad. After the deaths of Count Jemis and that middle brother whose name I can never remember, his Majesty was quite unable to cope with the trails of governing a country the size of father's horse farm…" 

"Sister _dear_, it's my stud now, in case you've forgotten," Yevgen said in a sweet, sugared tone that Kally had never heard him use before, but would certainly not wish to be directed at her. "Get to the point." 

"The point is that Tusaine is now being governed by an incompetent Council that can't be bothered to keep its squabbles quiet, under the auspices of a bubble-brained hysteric regent for a five-year old…" 

"The Second Queen," Corin explained to Kally as Yevgen and Rislyn started arguing about Tusaine politics and the affect any instability would have on Maren, Tortall, Tyra, Galla, and any other country that was so unfortunate as to have any dealings at all with that land. "Queens One, Three and Four and their offspring have all died in most tragic and unfortunate circumstances in the last few years." His expression was neutral, but Kally was rapidly   
becoming aware that the handsome face in no way meant the next Consort was at all deficient in the brains department. Rislyn had picked a very capable partner. 

"Oh very well, you can have the bloody granite and the architects in summer!" Rislyn conceded. 

Kally had missed most of the conversation between the Imperial siblings, though dessert was over and they were trying a range of coffees and dainty biscuits. Corin had been entertaining her with stories of Yevgen's early exploits at the Knights' Academy, and with his subsequent short military career prior to the conquest of Sarain. Though he had taken no part in the annexation, she was somewhat surprised to be discover that his military career had been spent on the Empire's previously westernmost provinces, at the foot of the Roof. It explained why he spoke the main Doi dialect passably well, and picked up a more than adequate amount of K'mir with comparative ease. 

"At the lower rate," Yevgen insisted, "and I'll need a barge for the horses from the stud farm." At Rislyn's raised eyebrow, he continued, "we need mounts for the postal service and the irregulars," he explained, "At the moment, we've a choice between miniscule mountain ponies or enormous leviathans that some fool thought were destriers. Neither is suitable for messenger duty or light cavalry, regular or not. Besides," he concluded practically, "if what Radanae was complaining about this morning is true, there's going to be a glut in the horse market next year anyway, so my taking away some of my contribution is going to stop the Society of Horse Breeders from pounding on your door in a few months!" 

Rislyn nodded tightly, though Kally though it was more the fact that her younger brother had managed to win the argument than any real reluctance to help secure the newest Imperial province. For Kally was not so blind as to think that Sarain's virtual autonomy was the same as being an independent nation in its own right. It now used Imperial currency; the Imperial flag and seal took precedence over its own symbols. The new King and Queen, no matter how carefully the Queen had been chosen, were set up by the previous Empress. Oaths of loyalty came to the Empire first, and Sarain second. What passed as a national army was really a series of Imperial companies and battalions full of soldiers who had drawn a dodgy posting and young knights from unimportant families hoping to get noticed by the son and brother of Empresses. 

She hoped the people thought the price they paid for their peace was worth it. 

The conversation drifted back to more innocuous things, now that the main purpose of the lunch was dispensed with. They spoke of the upcoming coronation, Rislyn gave Kally the names of good couturiers should she choose to expand her wardrobe (sneaking a look at her very well-dressed in-law, Kally made a mental note to do so), recommended several good theatre productions in the city (she had a habit of slipping out to see them incognito. Judging by the looks exchanged between the other three at the table, Yevgen was no stranger to similar behavior), and invited them to yet another dull court function that evening. 

The bored functionary returned to remind the Empress-to-be that she had a meeting with some economic advisers regarding the setting of interest rates by the central bank (a supposedly independent body, which meant that it was controlled by an Imperial cousin). With that, they parted, promising to speak at the function later in the evening. 

Kally and Yevgen started to head back to their quarters. As soon as they were in a quiet area of the corridor, she turned to him with amusement sparkling in her eyes. "_Evie_?" she asked breathlessly, before collapsing into fits of uncharacteristic giggles, as much at the horrified expression on his face as the childish diminutive. 

It took him a minute, before a sheepish expression took over, and his soft laughter joined her own, spilling out down the lonely corridors and over the gently falling snow.   
  


Gently falling snow, however, is a good deal more romantic when it is outside and you are in. One person, however, did not have that luxury as she waited impatiently, the cashmere tunic, warm boots, and fur cloak not quite taking away the need to blow her nose on a fine silk handkerchief. At last, the object of her impatience came into view, a small column of mounted knights, and she dragged herself away from the comparative shelter of the portico to greet them. 

"You're late and it's freezing. Get in before my nose falls off with cold." Radanae snapped as her two closest friends, Princess Berenice and Dama Justinia dismounted. Then, like any self-respecting wildmage, she greeted their horses with a deal more formality and assured the exhausted Nightwraith and Uma that she had indeed organized heated stalls and warm mash for them both. 

She waited until her friends and their escort had handed their mounts over to chilled grooms, and waved casually to those among the escort she did know, before ushering them all into the warmth of the Palace, the wonders of central heating and hot drinks. The escort waved a farewell as they separated to their private suites if they were from important families, or to the Knights' Barracks if they were not. 

The three women waited until they were gone before making their way to Kay's expansive apartments in the Imperial Family's wing. 

"Are my brother and his wife here yet?" Kay asked as they climbed the stairs, ignoring a toadying minor noble who bowed at them. 

"Yes, last week," Radanae informed her. "Speaking of which, are the two of you going to the Grand Bore? (all groaned at her feeble pun) Because if you are, can you two check out Evie and Kally tonight and tell me if I'm on the right track about those two….."   



	4. Boredom would be preferable

**Boredom would be preferable**

Kally watched her husband through the half-open door of his dressing room. Yevgen was holding two rather similar blue tunics up to his face, trying to decide which was more suitable for that night's reception. Evidently, neither was quite right, for he discarded both, much to the consternation of his valet, and selected a third, in a subdued shade of blue with silver frogging that went better with his grey breeches. 

Kalasin's maid had vanished into Kally's own dressing room to take care of last-minute adjustments to her gown, which was made up of a thousand shades of blue. The inspiration had come from the fine wool shawl that Yevgen had sent as a betrothal gift, and she would wear the sapphires he had given her with the dress. 

She watched the valet's actions with a small smile. While she had known no few dandies in Corus, there were very few Tortallan knights who would admit to taking such care with their appearance. She had rapidly realized that the Imperial perspective on such things was slightly different, though in retrospect it was quite logical. Just as female aristocrats thought nothing of spending days in mud-splattered armour (though they would complain a little about the discomfort) and running people through with three feet of steel, male aristocrats, if they were so inclined, didn't place much significance on their ability to tell the difference between burgundy and cerise, and which would be more suitable for a formal tunic. 

It was just one of the many small differences the Kally was finding between Yevgen and herself, for all that they got along so well. She was very glad now that she had resisted the urge to tease him about his slight vanity when she had first discovered it last spring, after the most urgent of the matters in Sarain had been dealt with. Yevgen would have been more embarrassed that he didn't understand the joke than anything else, but they did not need that strain on the marriage. The less-rigidly defined masculine and feminine roles in the Empire (sometimes Kally wondered if there were such things at all), a situation which Kally had originally thought perfectly natural, had taken longer to get used to than she had expected, which annoyed her more than a little. Even though she had grown up watching her mother's Riders and Keladry of Mindelan with admiration and envy, and could shoot a bow and wield sword and knife with a degree of competence, it had been a while before she could pass the female members of the castle garrison in the corridors without a slight feeling of surprise. It had finally sunk in one day when she was riding out with Yevgen and overheard two of the male knights, the burliest members of their bodyguard, exchanging embroidery tips. After that, it was far easier to accept that Imperials did things differently. The local Saren leaders were too busy being shocked at the Imperials themselves to question Kally's right to be there, which was a relief. 

Of course, anyone who thought that because the new Saren King was in any way weak, or that his discerning taste meant some sort of masculine deficiency was usually soundly relieved of that notion on the practice courts. Just as any suggestion that the female knights and soldiers were somehow less feminine was somewhat undermined when it was discovered that more than half of the local male equivalents were busy writing love-letters. 

Kally's maid came and indicated that the gown was ready for her to put on, so she followed the woman into her dressing room and slipped into the dress. By the time she came out, Yevgen was ready, with his valet buzzing around adjusting his hair so that the slight wave at the front fell just so. As usual, he had chosen to complement Kalasin's clothes, so his elegant blue and grey was a perfect foil for her own gown. 

He opened his mouth, seemingly about to say something, when there was knock at the door. With a barely audible sigh, he motioned for his valet to open it. 

"Good evening Yevgen, Kalasin," came a familiar voice, "I hope I'm not interrupting?" 

Yevgen gave a genuine smile as he crossed the floor to greet his twin sister. Princess Berenice, the Imperial Heir, was wearing what Kally now knew was the traditional 'civilian' dress for a knight. It consisted of an ankle-length, sleeveless tunic (Kally was enough of a Tortallan to hesitate calling something worn by men a 'dress'), and what appeared to be a long mantle draped in heavy, complicated folds around the body. It was worn mainly by older and diplomatic knights. Kally had observed that most of the younger and military knights that were at Court at the present time dressed as Yevgen did, while a few of the younger female knights had started to copy Kalasin's now-distinctive long sleeved, fitted Tortallan-style gowns (the ones, obviously, with good relationships with their couturiers considering she'd only been there a week). Kay had chosen a tunic of graduating shades of pink, from a deep rose to a barely-there tint, and the deep purple mantle of the Heir. She wound her pale blonde hair, the same shade as Yevgen's, under her formal coronet. Kally had noted that long hair seemed to be the sole preserve of Delmaran females – all the other Imperial knights that she knew kept their hair shoulder-length or shorter. 

Kally knew Kay better than she knew Rislyn, mainly as Yevgen himself was closer to his twin, and because Kay had come to stay with them for much of the winter, leaving only when Chitral Pass was perfectly clear, though Kally knew perfectly well that Kay's long stay was not so much due to travel restrictions as to allow Yevgen and Kally time to get to know each other before they had to take full responsibilities for rule. 

"How are you two?" Kay was saying, "Kalasin, that's an absolutely divine gown! I love the gathered effect here…" 

It was slightly disconcerting to hear the woman Kally had seen bellow obscenities at slovenly gate guards and wield a two-handed broadsword with equanimity talking about the quality of Carthaki silk as opposed to Femarian damask, but she was rapidly becoming aware that nothing in the Empire was quite what she had originally thought. Yevgen caught her eye and raised a corner of his mouth in an amused lilt, understanding her line of thought. 

"So we got in this afternoon. I thought I might pay a visit before we faced the wolves, if it's not too much trouble…" she glanced between Yevgen and Kalasin with a funny expression on her face. 

"Trouble?" Kally asked. 

"It's the reception connected with the formal opening of the special Senate session," Kay explained as they made their way out of the suite and down to the grand reception rooms. "It's only for a few days…all they'll do is vote for a formal expression of condolences about mother, and then formally vote Rislyn in as Empress." 

"The Empress is voted in?" this was news to Kally, for all that Yevgen had given her a very sketchy idea of Imperial politics over the last year. 

"Technically," Kay hesitated, "it's a bit complicated. The Empire started out as just another merchant city-state, much like…say, Tyra, and the Senate was originally just a gathering of the prominent citizens who ran the city. Obviously, things changed when Bersone expanded, and the Empresses took charge. But it's a sort of harking back to our roots, and," she added with a wry twist to her mouth, "it gives the people a illusion that they actually have a say in who the next Empress is." 

"The Senate is technically elected from the people," Yevgen took over, "but there are qualifications, such as land ownership. Consequently, it's made up of knights…" he glanced at his sister. 

"…lawyers, bankers, and merchants, in that order," Kay concluded. 

They walked in silence for a little while, aware that they were drawing closer to the party. 

"Any trouble?" Yevgen asked anxiously. 

"Not that I know of." Kay shook her head, making the rubies and amethysts in her coronet sparkle. Yevgen and Kalasin had selected simpler headwear, Kalasin in the delicate tiara Yevgen had given her as part of his betrothal present, he in a simple silver band set with two sapphires and a diamond. "Petronil would have told the Council." 

"The Senate representative on the Empress's Council," Yevgen explained to Kally, "he's a knight, and a good one. For pure biographical interest, he's also Radanae Gavrillian's father. I'll point him out, but it's obvious when you see him." 

By then they had reached the doors that lead to the Grand Ballroom. The herald motioned for Kally and Yevgen to come to him, but Kay bid them both a brief adieu and quietly slipped in through a side door. 

Kally took a deep breath as she lay a hand on Yevgen's arm and followed him to the entrance. She reminded herself that she had done this sort of thing hundreds of times before in Corus, but it didn't help. In the end it was of no matter. Even had she tripped down the staircase, it wouldn't have made one difference to their reception. Yevgen was evidently popular, and she was immediately pronounced a success. The first few hours passed in a whirl as Yevgen pointed out people of interest, and those related to those she knew. As he indicated Radanae's parents, her mother a famed General and also a member of the Council, Kally understood why, even though she was a bit small by family standards and had odd interests, Radanae was unchallenged as family heir. She caught a glimpse of Justinia's unknighted mother, a coroner and respected barrister, who had left the Academy in her second last year to pursue her legal career. Radanae and Justinia themselves, and others of Yevgen and Kay's friends, those who had accompanied them to Tortall, and those who had been part of the first delegation to Corus came to reintroduce themselves and make her welcome. Aulan, Yevgen's former roommate, came over to flirt lightly with her before being glared away by Yevgen. Despite having to hold dozens of useless conversation with boring people who examined her as though she were a racehorse at auction, Kally enjoyed most of it, until she heard a very familiar tone, though the voice was new. 

"Good evening your Majesties, are you enjoying the party?" it was a woman's low soprano, and poisonously polite, much like those of the girls she'd had to go to school with when they were being their rudest. 

Yevgen evidently recognised it, for he froze momentarily before turning around in a slight bow. "Good evening, Dama Selera. Very much so." 

The newcomer was a strikingly beautiful woman in her early twenties, with rich dark hair perhaps a shade lighter than Kally's, very pale skin and eyes of an unsettlingly familiar amber hue. There was some sort of tension between Yevgen and herself, and Kally was almost cattily pleased to see that the woman's very correct attire – in a white tunic and mantel bordered with the complex red and purple design that indicated her graduating year from the Academy – did not flatter either her figure or her complexion. 

"I have not had the honour of being presented her Her Majesty," Selera gave a nod to Kally that was just short of rude. 

Yevgen drew himself up, but managed to present the beautiful stranger as Dama Selera Carloni, and then finished "I understand that I am to wish you joy, Dama?" 

Kally was then aware that the immediate area around them had gone dead quiet for a function, with no few of the younger knights looking oddly in their direction. Behind a pillar, she could just make out Radanae, in an apple-green tunic, sea-green mantle, and a beautiful carved jade necklace and armband set having a lively conversation with a very large young man with whom she shared a striking resemblance. Evidently there was some trouble, for she sent him off in Kally and Yevgen's direction, arriving in front of them just as Yevgen finished his sentence, "…Sir Rory Gavrillian." 

Radanae's elder brother bowed, made some small talk, then a feeble excuse and dragged his fiancée to the opposite end of the room, no mean feat though Kally thought that he must be at least six and a half feet tall. 

The silence in their immediate area went on for just a little too long before the young knights went back to their too-trivial conversations. Yevgen was standing still, the completely blank expression on his face hiding all sorts of emotions. At length, though he forced a sociable smile on his face, and guided Kalasin around to meet more people. As she talked about the severity of Saren storms as opposed to the ones in Bersone, Kally remembered where she had seen amber eyes like that before. 

Dama Felara Eriel, Yevgen's former lover. No, she corrected herself sadly as she heard herself say something about ice storms in Tortall's north, _his_ _love_.   
  


Later in the evening, when Yevgen had been drawn away to talk about the fur trade, Kally caught a glimpse of a sea-green mantle disappearing around a marble pillar. Anxious to find out from one of her husband's friends who she knew reasonably well what the meeting with Dama Selera Carloni was about, Kally followed, encouraged when she saw Rory Gavrillian duck out after his little sister. 

"What were you thinking, letting Selera embarrass Kalasin like that!" Radanae's voice was not designed to whisper, so the hiss carried to Kally easily. 

"She's her own woman. I swear, I had no idea she was going to be so stupid until she went up to them." Rory's voice was a comfortable baritone, and equally unused to whispering. 

A sigh. "Look. Try and keep her away from them. And for the Empire's sake, make sure no one mentions it anywhere near Kalasin. It's bloody hard enough trying to run a country, keep up an arranged marriage, and know about one significant in your husband's life – she knows about Lara – without knowing about less pleasant histories. Remember. Not a word about Selera anywhere near Kalasin or her attendants." 

Rory made a noise of assent and departed, returning to the ballroom somewhere to Kally's right. There was a delay of a few minutes, before a soft rustle of silk indicated that Radanae was also about to return to the party. 

She stepped out and almost ran over Kalasin. Kally gave the other woman no time to be surprised, as she immediately asked, "Who is Selera Carloni? And what is she to Yevgen?"   
  


It looked like a balcony. Kalasin almost would have believed that they were outside, were it not for the comfortable temperature, and the occasional fall of snow against the perfectly clear glass. For a diplomat, Radanae was unusually short of words. 

"The Delmaran Family runs heavily to daughters," she began at last, "and it's not unusual for several generations to pass without any princes. Like so many rare things, princes tend to be coveted by those who don't really appreciate them for what they are." A pause. "I'll be as succinct as possible, because none of us really like talking about it. There are too many of our shortcomings in it. Now, just because gender is no bar to entry to the Knight's Academy, it doesn't tend to follow that we're all very nice and tolerant people. Selera is one who is not. Oh, she's intelligent, and loyal to the Empire, never doubt that, and she and Rory are in love, otherwise I wouldn't be able to stand her at the dinner table at home. Anyway, she was part of a group of several girls at the Academy who got their sport at the expense of those who were perhaps less clever and less skilled on the practice courts, or came from less exhalted families than themselves." Radanae allowed herself a small grin. "My own little group of friends and I never noticed, of course. Kay and Ris were princesses, I was smarter than all of them put together and rich enough to buy them several times over, and Justinia was old Lady Ferox's granddaughter and perfectly able to kill them by 'accident' in the fencing gallery. Lara was one of their favourite victims, for all that she's Selera's cousin," Kally nodded, now knowing where the eyes came from, "but after Kay took Lara under her wing when they became roommates, they sensibly left Lara alone. Now, to come to the most important point, in our mid-teens, they had managed to gather between themselves a very considerable pool of about thirty gold pieces, which would go to the first one of them to well…spend a night with the prince." Radanae purposefully left it vague, knowing that Kally would work it out. After a few seconds of silence, she continued. "Suffice to say, Selera suddenly found the funds to purchase a new horse – not a Gavrillian, of course," Kally heard some snobbish, rather self-satisfied tones there, "but a horse nonetheless. You can guess what happened next. Kay had a rather bewildered younger brother to deal with, and did so by introducing him to her roommate. And the rest, so they say, is history. Consequently, none of us have ever liked Selera much, though, in all fairness, she is generally an exemplary example of knighthood, and tonight's performance is fairly inconsistent with her present character." 

Whoever kept Selera away from Kally after that, whether it was Rory, his friends, or Yevgen's, did a very good job, for Kalasin never saw her again, save from a very great distance at the largest formal functions.   
  
  


Yevgen and Kally walked back to their apartment in the early hours of the morning in their customary companionable silence, though Kally was aware that it was tempered with a little tension, even though it was not directed at her. 

"What did you think of Senator Petronil?" Yevgen forced the question out in a brightly-lit corridor when the quiet had started to become just a little bit oppressive. 

"He seems a very knowledgeable gentleman. I think I see a lot of him in Radanae," Kally ventured a cautious comment, aware that he was not conversing with his customary ease. 

"Yes, most do." They continued down the hall, until they reached the doors of their room. As always, Yevgen stepped forward and held the door open for them. 

Someone had evidently tidied up the suite while they were gone, and had noted when they had left the party so as to leave pots of tea, coffee and chocolate as well as a plate of cakes on the dining table. 

"Chocolate?" he asked, pouring a cup and holding it out to Kally, she accepted, then examined him over the gilt rim. A year ago, she would have thought that the was nothing wrong, but now, after nearly a year and a half spent in very close quarters, she knew Yevgen well enough to know that the too-normal, calm exterior belied some fairly fraught thoughts and emotions. She pitied whoever had to face him later in the morning on the practice courts. She had seen him fight often enough – both in practice and for real – often enough to know that he was a formidable opponent, even in his usual, human form. Yevgen was an accomplished enough wildmage to be able to shapeshift, but so far she had only caught the briefest of glimpses of him in his favoured wolf-form, that he had used for spying on the Scanran border. He hadn't done it in her vicinity since. 

He held out the plate of cakes for her to make the first choice, and then selected a miniature fruit tart for himself and sat down in one of the chairs, absently loosening the collar of his tunic. 

"I thought that went reasonably well," Kally took the other chair and a small cinnamon scroll. As with most large functions, there had not been a great deal of food at the reception, and she had long learned that the trick to such parties was to eat before and afterwards. 

"Yes, quite," Yevgen replied, before it was obvious that his mind took off somewhere else. 

"It was quite nice seeing so many people I met in Tortall." Kally continued gamely. 

"Kay tells me that they ask after you whenever she meets them." Again, she had to admire his ability to make sensible conversation while his mind was completely engaged elsewhere. 

Kally couldn't really take his forced politeness and absentness anymore. "Yevgen." She said in a clear tone, which made him jerk a little, "I have some idea what Dama Selera did, and it's none of my business, I know, but…" she trailed off at the expression in his eyes. 

"Who told you?" he asked, his voice light and dangerous. 

She backed away slightly from this completely new side of him. "R…Radanae. I ran into her during the eveni…" Kally didn't get a change to finish as Yevgen got up from his seat, and with only a very absent 'Excuse me', bolted out the door, not even bothering to close it. 

The silence in the room was so thick that she could almost taste it. The sound of her breathing, the slight clink as she placed her cup back on its saucer was deafening. Her footsteps were eerily loud as she crossed the marble floor to close the door. It was just as quiet outside the suite. Rislyn, Corin and Kay, who were the only other occupants of the wing, were either still at the function or had found their own entertainments. She sighed as she returned to her seat, unlacing the back of her gown as she did so. The exquisite blue silk fell in a heap at her feet, and Kally unceremoniously scooped it up and pitched it onto the couch in her dressing room. The dainty slippers came next, and then she pulled the pins out of her hair and dumped her jewellery onto the dresser, before changing into her night-gown. 

The bed was huge, and the linens were of her favourite blue. Yevgen must have arranged it, for, she guessed, judging from the rest of the décor in the suite, the original hangings and coverlets had probably been the customary red and purple. She smiled at his consideration of her tastes. The romantic in her sighed grumpily. That part of her had been overjoyed at fulfilling the cliché of fairy tales, of handsome princes and beautiful castles. The more practical side of her had enjoyed the last year, tough as it was, of rebuilding Sarain, of finally being able to be her own woman. 

She had a pretty good idea of where Yevgen had gone, though, in all fairness, she didn't feel that it was anything that he should be so concerned about. Kally knew perfectly well that Yevgen had fallen in love at least once before he met her, and it didn't much matter how many other times he had done so. What mattered, she told herself sternly, was that now he was faithful to her. 

It was evident that Yevgen wasn't going to be back for a while so she pulled the covers up to her neck and lay back on the pillows, thinking. She was Queen Kalasin of Sarain, formerly the Princess Royal of Tortall. She was a competent archer and a passable swordswoman. A trained healer with a powerful Gift. She was married to a wildmage King with good manners who became more of an enigma the better she knew him, as contradictory as it sounded. For that matter, she no longer seemed to know herself. Back in Tortall, it had been easy. She was the eldest Princess, the beauty, the frustrated knight. In Sarain, she was the new Queen, descendent of the _jin_ Wilimas, with dangerous radical views about the way things ought to be done, but with good sense and more ability that the others who had come before her. Now, Kally thought, away from all that, it was no longer so easy to know who she was. The luxuries of this short holiday, and the boredom associated with it, were dangerous. It left her too much time to think about things that simply weren't relevant back ...as she consciously called Sarain now...home. She and Yevgen had left much of the running of the country in the hands of the Council, a body that contained Imperial, Saren, K'mir and Doi members, but worked surprisingly well together. She was Queen Kalasin of Sarain, Princess Royal of Tortall, but that didn't matter at all in Bersone, where those two countries didn't even appear on most maps.   



	5. Conversations and Revelations

**Conversations and Revelations**

The Gavrillian House had been prominent in the Empire for so long, and had kept their suite in the Palace for so long, that nobody so much as raised an eyebrow, much less and objection, when they decided to redecorate that suite a year ago. Unlike the rest of the Palace, with its elegant marble, mother-of-pearl highlights, and arched doorways, the Gavrillian suite was furnished in such a manner to make its occupants feel at home. Thus, the floors were of polished wood, covered with woven rugs more for decoration than warmth (for the central heating in the Palace reached almost every corner), and the House colours of amber and warm green predominated. 

Rory was staying with their parents, so Radanae had the suite to herself, and she'd invited Kay and Justinia back after the party for a sort of post mortem on the affair. Kelvar, her younger brother, and a member of the elite Empress's Swords, was on assignment keeping an eye on the more outspoken members of various political organisations that might one day be a threat to Rislyn's rule. Evidently, an important part of that assignment was spending a lot of time drinking with his quarry and meticulously detailing tavern bills on his expense claim forms. He had found accommodations for himself in a part of the capital that respectable knights weren't supposed to go to (which meant that they all knew the area as well as they knew the Palace), so it was unlikely that he'd drop in. 

"So, what do you think?" she asked her guests, flopping down onto the leather couch. After the function, they'd all changed from their formal clothing into long trousers of stout cotton twill, overdyed so that they appeared almost black, and long-sleeved knitted tunics that barely came to their hips. It was clothing worn by miners and farmers in the northern provinces, and had recently become popular as casual winter wear among knights who had been stationed there. 

"Well, if it wasn't for Selera Carloni being a pretentious bitch – as usual – I think it all went rather well. I saw Evie and Kalasin before the function. They seemed fine. I mean, they got along a lot better than I think I'd get along with somebody my mother picked out for me from a portrait, but that's not saying much." Kay swirled her goblet of warm spiced wine around before sipping it. "A very nice one. The '43 Refaria Shiraz?" 

"The '44," Radanae corrected. "Even I can't afford to boil the '43 to oblivion with a cinnamon stick and a bit of ginseng." 

Justinia raised her own goblet in a sort of salute. Like most warriors, she viewed formal functions with dread, and only went for the off chance that there might be a moderately entertaining riot. Unlike most others in her position – a good fighter from an undistinguished House, no matter how illustrious the other part of her heritage – she had no real need to go to functions to make connections, already being one of Kay's most trusted lieutenants. "I definitely think that they get along better than most arranged matches," she agreed. "It is a pity that Carloni is otherwise so talented," she mused. 

"You mean that she's one of very few we have who can fight a war and negotiate the peace settlement without giving the other side inflated ideas about their own importance?" Kay asked cynically. 

"I was trying to be diplomatic," Justinia snapped. 

"Don't. It doesn't become you. Leave it to the pen-pusher there." 

Radanae mumbled a protest through her mouthful of soup. Like most veterans of more tedious social functions, she had made prior arrangements for a decent meal afterwards. Hence, the women helped themselves from a large tureen of thick chicken and vegetable soup with noodles, crusty rolls with butter, a selection of cheeses, and a substantial fruit crumble served with cream. 

"Evie was always the romantic," Kay sighed as she put her bowl and spoon down on the low table that Justinia had dragged into the perfect place for them to rest their feet. "That's why I think the business with Carloni when we were sixteen turned into such a mess. That's why I think I dislike her so. It would have been different had that sort of thing been the same for him as it was for the rest of us – a bit of a lark, a chance to see how close we could get before we got dragged in front of the Dean – in one case, to collect a bet." Here she glanced at Justinia, who had the grace to blush. "But she had to convince Evie that he was in love with her. In retrospect, that's where I slipped up with Lara. I thought it might take his mind off it. But no, once bitten, he's convinced that every time that sort of thing happens, he ought to be in love with the girl, never thinking that it's all going to end badly once mother remembered that the old rules on arranged marriages or discouragement thereof, don't really apply to royals." She sighed. "Things have ended badly for him twice. That's where that 'oddness' you're talking about might be coming from. On one hand, romantic Evie is convinced that he really ought to make an effort to fall in love – whatever that is – with his wife, considering that death or divorce aren't really preferable options for the foreseeable future. On the other, King Yevgen the really-ought-to-be-responsible-now-that-he's-nearly-twenty-two, knows that things get strained when one gets too emotionally hysterical. That part of him is trying to keep it as a 'good friends and partners who happen to be trying to have a baby together' sort of thing." 

"Are they?" Justinia asked, interested. 

"Are they what?" 

"Trying for a kid." 

"Well, if they're not, they should bloody well be. It's essential that they secure the succession before there's any grumbling from whatever scions are left over from previous dynasties." Radanae was uncharacteristically blunt about it, "Most societies west of the Roof place a rather high emphasis on genealogical succession – it makes the Houses look positively casual." 

Justinia snorted her disbelief. "And Kalasin?" she asked, changing the subject. 

Kay sighed. "Kalasin…Kalasin is a puzzle. I don't know her nearly so well as I should like, and two decades worth of training has made her rather difficult to read. Initially, her response to Evie was more surprise and relief. I suppose if you've been brought up all your life to expect an arranged marriage to somebody three times your age with bad breath, almost anyone's going to be a relief. And, of course, in my biased opinion, Evie doesn't scrub up too badly, even if he is my brother. Last winter I got the impression that she was impressed by him, and this evening, I got a feeling that they have managed to come to some sort of understanding in the last year." 

"I still think that they're in love with each other and too scared to admit it," Radanae huffed, poking around in the tureen for more noodles. 

Kay snorted. "Oh come on. How often does that happen in real life? I know you read three-copper romantic fluff when you should be boring yourself to sleep over treaties – and I don't blame you for a minute – but that sort of thing never happens in real life. Yevgen and Kalasin are two perfectly sensible adults and decent rulers who can work together to really do some quite remarkable things. As such, they should be perfectly able to discuss such trifling matters between themselves." 

Radanae opened her mouth to rebut, but was interrupted by a furious knocking on the heavy oak door. "Who on earth could that be?" she asked, as Justinia, who was nearest to the door heaved herself up from her comfortable armchair and opened it. 

Luckily, Justinia was a tall, strong woman, even by knightly standards, otherwise Yevgen would have knocked her over as he barrelled through the door. He was quite unkept, by his 'peacetime Palace' standards, hair mussed and tunic unbuttoned, showing a pale blue shirt. He came to a stop before Radanae, who was on the sofa, barely noticing the other two women in the room, much less make a remark on its décor like everyone else did. 

"What did you tell her? And why did you tell her?" he asked, fists balled. 

Radanae looked at him confusedly. "Tell who? About what?" 

"Kalasin, of course," he said impatiently, "Selera Carloni," he spat out the name as though it burned his mouth. 

"Oh. Well, in that case, that there was a pool of gold among the older girls at the Academy for the first one to get you into her bed, and that Selera Carloni, sometime during that period, managed to find the funds for a new horse. Kalasin's not stupid, Yevgen, she knew something was odd from the minute Carloni came up to you and I gather she suspected something of the sort. As to why, she almost ran me down when you were talking to the Tevar Envoy and demanded some sort of clarification. Since you weren't around to collaborate, I saw no point in telling anything other than the truth." 

His fists balled, then relaxed. He gave a visible exhalation of breath. "I suppose there really wasn't anything else to be done," he said reluctantly, sitting down on a convenient chair. "Could I have a drink?" he asked, and then accepted a goblet from Justinia. He took a rather bigger gulp than simple thirst could really account for. 

He fidgeted with the fine silver stem for so long Radanae wondered if she would need to apologise to her mother for the state of the goblets when next they met. At length, though, Yevgen decided that he had not walked all the way from his quarters for a goblet of wine and five minutes worth of conversation. "Look." He said after a long pause. "I appreciate that there wasn't much else you could have done at the time, and that we've known each other, in some cases, since before we were born," he exchanged a look with his sister, "but there are some things that I would prefer to tell my wife myself. She…Kally…means a lot to me. Gods, you don't know how much she means to me…" 

He was suddenly aware of the silence in the room, of the three pairs of eyes, of wildly different colours, staring at him in disbelief. He was suddenly aware that he'd said too much, and making a stock excuse, got up and left the room. 

After another little pause, Kay audibly took a breath. "I stand corrected," she said in a light tone. "Now, is there any of that goats' milk Brie left? I can't plot on an empty stomach." 

  


Kally couldn't sleep, so even when he made an effort to open the door quietly and glide softly across the floor, she heard quite clearly when Yevgen got back. She sat up as he walked past the bed on the way to his dressing room, unbuttoning his tunic. 

"She didn't tell me very much, you know," her words seemed to hang between them as he turned around in surprise. "In fact, she told me about as little as she possibly could." 

There was a moment of tension as he shrugged out of his tunic and sat down heavily on his side of the bed. "I didn't think you'd still be up," he said mildly. His eyes met hers momentarily, then he looked away. "Kally…it's just…well…there are some things about me that I…I can't tell you. I didn't particularly appreciate someone else talking about them." 

Her hand, of its own accord, crossed the distance between them to his. "Whatever it was – I don't pretend to know, and in any case it's none of my business – Yevgen, whatever happened, it doesn't matter to…to _us_." It was meant as a reassurance, but she could see that it didn't bring him much comfort. His head jerked up, and the dark brown eyes she liked so much were momentarily filled with such an expression of hurt and hopelessness that a second later, when he reverted back to his customary pleasant courtesy, she wondered if she had imagined it all. "I think I'd better get changed out of these," was all he said as slid his hand out from under hers and continued towards his dressing room. 

He must have been gone no more than a few minutes, but to Kally it seemed an eternity as she lay back down on the pillows, wondering what on earth had caused such a reaction in him. It wasn't as though he seemed at all to mind whatever had gone on for her before they met. Even though she'd known very well that she couldn't take any lovers for the same reason that she couldn't become a knight – for who knows what prospective political bridegrooms might have funny views on – Yevgen wouldn't have minded if she had. When she had, on some girlish whim, decided to follow the troops up to the Scanran border dressed as a Rider, it had been Yevgen who had met her first. She remembered that meeting, and the band of Scanran irregulars who had accosted them. After the initial shock of their meeting, he hadn't seemed surprised, much less offended that she was there. He'd assumed that she was there to bid farewell to a lover, and politely informed her of the locations of various parts of the Tortallan army, as mildly as though he were discussing the weather. Why should there be such a response from him when she stated that she didn't mind either? _Life never goes the way one supposes_, she told herself, _he had no expectation of an arranged marriage, and I know that. Why should I mind that he didn't have as many restrictions in his life before as I did? Well, yes, I am a bit miffed about it, but there's nothing I can do about it now._

The soft tread of bare feet on marble, coupled with the whisper of crisp linens and a slight movement in the mattress indicated that he had returned. Kally shifted slightly onto her side to face him. 

"Is something else wrong?" she asked, "I mean, apart from the obvious." 

He looked at her seriously for a second. "No…not really. It's only…well…I don't think you'd have felt it yet. It's just…well, it's just that what I thought was home doesn't feel like home anymore. I spent nearly all my life here and this time…I…I feel like a visitor. This last week…I've seen the people I grew up with – the ones that are here. Aulan with the Gate Guard, Tomas teaching at the Academy, Radanae in the Service – they still belong here. They're _happy_ here, doing what everyone thought they would end up doing. I thought that this would be a holiday, a short respite from all the cares back at the castle, back in Sarain, coming back to where I was comfortable, where I knew who I was and where I belonged - even if I wasn't always completely enthusiastic about it. But now…I suppose it's an odd feeling, when you walk the corridors you've walked a thousand times, talk to people who you know inside and out – and who know you, and always wish you were…elsewhere. Talking to other people. Or arguing, as the case more often is with our hard-heads." He sighed, then shook his head ruefully. "Look, I'm rambling on. Probably just tired and irritable. Don't mind me. Thanks for listening, Kal," 

The gentle kiss was as delicate as the brush of a butterfly's wing against her lips, and just as unexpected. They'd done more than their fair share of kissing (and everything else associated) in the last year and a half, but he still hadn't lost his ability to take her breath away. 

"Goodnight," he said softly, drawing away and falling back onto the pillows, his eyes closed, and he seemed asleep. 

Kally watched him for the merest fraction of a second, taking in the graceful sweep of his eyelashes, the lock of hair that refused to behave, before she, too, drew the blankets up again and closed her eyes. Within minutes, she joined him in slumber.   
  


Someone trying to bribe Senator Sir Amergin Petronil had given him a bottle of very expensive wine in a variety both he and his wife despised. Consequently, his daughter decided to relieve the servants of the trouble of dusting it and shared it with her friends, who weren't quite so picky when it came to fine wine. Anyway, if her father noticed, she had an identical bottle lying around in the collection locked in the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Most senior diplomats didn't like being bribed, but also thought that anyone silly enough to try such a stale technique deserved to lose their investment. So, as a compromise between their consciences, junior diplomats like Radanae could usually accumulate quite a nice collection of wine and useless ornaments by virtue of being in the right place at the right time. If she thought that some of those diplomats (especially those wanting plum assignments) might be, in turn, attempting to curry the favour of a House scion and daughter of two Councillors, she did not mention it as she accepted the cast-off gifts or when she shared her bounty with her peers. 

"It's only a few days until the coronation, blast it, and they'll be gone soon afterwards. So will we, come to think of it," Kay complained as she poured her second glass. 

"We've worked on a tighter schedule before," Radanae insisted. 

"No we haven't," Justinia corrected her. "We hardly ever did the mushy stuff, and when we did, it took weeks, if not months, to set up, and then it always went quite messily to hell." 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Radanae glared at her unfortunately accurate best friend, who downed her glass in one go. Justinia ignored her. 

"Well, that doesn't matter," Radanae continued brightly, "hasn't Ris been complaining about how inefficient it is for all the Embassies west of the Roof to all send their correspondence directly to Bersone? We don't have enough mages, and the transport costs are going through the roof. Now, wouldn't it be better if all the non-essential correspondence and non-vital intelligence went to a central point for preliminary analysis so we can determine what was really essential and send that on express, while the rest travels in bulk? And what better point is there than…" 

"Yevgen's capital in Sarain," Kay concluded, "Perfect." She smiled. "It will help his economy get off the ropes too, as, if I'm not mistaken, a lot of trade and such is going to follow wherever our luxury-loving bureaucrats go. And who better to help set up the system and co-ordinate the far west network for the Service than someone involved with both its aspects? Someone who is young enough to survive in the comfortless barbarous west, and a good enough fighter to not need a large bodyguard. Someone who is familiar with the cultures of the west, and is on good terms with the King and Queen." She gave Radanae a meaningful look. 

"Precisely," the diplomat nodded. "Besides, I'm getting sick and tired of proof-reading treaties for spelling mistakes and correct placement of commas. I need an occupation or I shall go mad." 

"Really, could we tell the difference?" Justinia muttered, but then poured the rest of the bottle into their three glasses. "To friendship," she said as she handed the glasses back to their owners. 

"To success!" Kay held her glass aloft. 

"And to love – between other people," Radanae laughed as they brought the glasses together with the soft _chink_ of crystal. 

"Hear, hear!" the three downed their drinks, and then stood to depart. Kay made an extravagant bow as she swayed out the door and back to her rooms in the Imperial wing. Justinia walked a few yards to the guestroom in the Gavrillian suite, which Radanae had offered. The Knights' Barracks, while comfortable, spacious and well maintained, paled in comparison to the private suites, and Kay and Justinia had already spent a year in close quarters with the promise of very many more. There are times when one needs a break. 

Radanae took one last look at the mess they had created before scribbling an apologetic note to the servants and leaving a few coins as a tip before blowing out the oil lamps and heading for her room to collapse into bed.   


_Author's notes: Thank you very much for all the reviews, everyone. They're much appreciated, and very helpful – very inspirational too! Please keep them coming. In case anyone's interested, yes, the three women are wearing jeans and jumpers, and classic Imperial architecture, dress and political structure is Roman-influenced, complete with soaring ceilings, marble pillars, and fountains. Hence, the contrast between the Gavrillian suite – which is meant to have, in comparison, a very relaxed, cosy, homey feel – almost like a wealthy person's vision of a country cottage, with polished wood floors and panelling and such - and the rest of the Palace is meant to be very jarring. It's part of how flustered Yevgen is that he doesn't notice._   
__   



	6. Intermezzo

_In case anyone had the same question as Sitine regarding the notes at the end of the last chapter, a jumper is what Americans call a sweater. And yes, 'Evie' is the nick_   
_name that Yevgen referred to in 'Kalasin's betrothal', the one he didn't want his sisters or friends telling her about. This is just a short connecting chapter to link 'acts' one and two of the story._

**Intermezzo**

Events in the days surrounding the coronation of Empress Rislyn passed by so quickly that in her more ridiculous moments, Kally sometimes wondered if someone was manipulating time itself as well as the events. Everyone in the Imperial Palace seemed to be moving at a fever pitch those few days – even the normally efficient servants appeared to be moving like miniature whirlwinds as they tidied the rooms and brought food and drink. 

She shook her head, taking in the icy sea air as their flagship, proudly flying the banners of Sarain, as it raced its way through heavy winter storms down the labyrinthine network of rivers and canals to Port Sebastia, the main Imperial harbour on the Inland Sea. From Sebastia, it was only a few days voyage to Port Udayapur, which in turn was an easy distance to their capital. 

The coronation had been remarkable only in its simplicity for the ruler of such a vast empire. It had taken longer to get the vast crowd assembled than it had taken for Rislyn to formally take the title and style of Empress. Kally considered herself lucky – she and Yevgen, and various other cousins, together with most ranking members of the more important families, had watched from the balconies that surrounded the large courtyard where the ceremony took place. They were no more than a few steps away from the comforts of the Palace, and wrapped up in warm winter clothing besides. She shivered as she remembered how cold those in the courtyard itself must have been, especially those who had been there since early in the morning to catch a glimpse of the new Empress. It couldn't have been such better for those soldiers and officials who had been unable to decline the honour, freezing in their ceremonial dress. It would probably have been the worst for Rislyn, who, as tradition demanded, wore only a simple white tunic and sandals as she crossed the vast expanse of the courtyard to where a small fire burned in a sort of granite birdbath. There, she held the deceptively small symbol of Imperial power – a circlet, made entirely of one-carat diamonds set in platinum – the Diadem – above her head. Rislyn was a mage of no small powers, even by the higher standards of Tortall (for, as Kally had found in the last year and a half, the Gift was quite rare in the Empire, with wild magic much more common), so her voice carried to all corners of the courtyard. Kally was pretty sure that the effort involved would have meant that Rislyn did not have enough energy left to keep herself warm by magical means, making things even more uncomfortable. It was a fairly unremarkable oath, as such things go, but she said all the things that one expects, about service, about loyalty, about good judgement, but she left them in no doubt that she intended to be wearing the Diadem for a very long time. At that moment, Kally did not think that anybody would gainsay Rislyn in her goal, especially not as Kay, clearly the only heir that all could agree on (there were several cousins, but all their claims were equally valid, thus raising the chances of conflict), made her loyalties to her sister clear. 

The days after the coronation followed in a blur, with what appeared to be thousands of gifts and supplies arriving, which all had to be loaded upon the fleet that would return to Sarain. The first shipment of horses from Yevgen's Imperial stud would also be accompanying them, magnificent creatures that he explained were bred specifically for speed and endurance. They hoped to use them as foundation stock for their own messenger-herd. Kally smiled tightly as she recalled the efficient manner in which other aspects of their return had been handled. 

It was not that they didn't badly need all the help they could get in building up their infrastructure. It wasn't that they wouldn't greatly appreciate a large increase in trade across the Roof. They certainly didn't mind knowing a lot more about their neighbours. On a personal note, she didn't particularly dislike Radanae Gavrillian either; for all that the older woman's loyalties were firmly with the Empire. 

It was the realisation that Sarain was not free, even if it was at peace, and showed promise of prosperity. The realisation that after hundreds of years of prickly independence, Sarain was the client-state of a powerful entity, no more than an additional irregular shape on a map, important not for itself, but as a possession, noteworthy to those in Bersone only as the residence of an Imperial Prince who would fade from general consideration within a few generations in any case. 

Rislyn and the rest of the Imperial High Council had been very polite about it, but Kally knew that a polite refusal was out of the question. The request to establish the main Imperial Embassy and the head office of the Imperial Diplomatic Service in the lands west of the Roof in the Saren capital had been very politely phrased, and Kally had to see the benefits in it. The Imperials would pay for the highway to link the capital to the westernmost Imperial provinces. They would bring trade between the Empire and the Eastern Lands. They would upgrade the main harbour at Udayapur, and bring gold into the capital as they built their almost-Palaces. 

They would also entrench the most sophisticated spy network Kally had ever imagined firmly in her back yard. If at least she and Yevgen had an illusion of privacy before, away from both their families, it was gone now. Some previous Empress, with a keen eye on her purse, merged the Imperial Diplomatic and Intelligence Services, reasoning that they did the same thing anyway, and since then, the Service had become synonymous with espionage. They were subtle, Kally could give them that. Had Yevgen not told her the morning of the Senate reception, she would never have guessed that the polite young knight sent to oversee the construction of the Embassy and the offices was anything but what she appeared. 

"It's rough today," Kally jumped, startled from her reverie. 

Radanae had come up on deck, dressed simply and practically in breeches, low boots, warm tunic and long overcoat. 

"Yes, it is," Kally replied, trying the regain her composure. 

"I take it that Yevgen will not be joining us for dinner this evening?" Radanae asked with a slight movement at the corner of her mouth, as the ship gave another stomach-churning lurch. 

"Don't tease." Kally said, mock-sternly. "You know that he's feeling wretched." 

Actually, that was an understatement. The previous two times that Kally had been on a sea voyage with him – from Tortall to Sarain, and from Sarain to Bersone – the weather had been reasonably calm, so Yevgen's tendency towards seasickness had manifested only in a few missed meals and one or two indignities. However, this time, due to the roughness of the seas, he had so far spent the entire trip either being rather unregally ill over the rail, or in their stateroom, drugged to a state of near-unconsciousness. 

Radanae gave Kally an odd look. "So," she temporised, trying to think of what to say, "what did you think of Bersone?" 

"It was very pretty," Kally said safely, "although I have to admit I couldn't see much of it under all that snow. The Palace was lovely, though." 

"Yes, I've always thought so." A pause. "How's the castle-building going? Kay showed me some sketches she'd made last year when she was there for your coronation, but she said that you hadn't quite finished it yet." 

"Well, it's finished now," Kally was sure that Radanae was dancing around to another topic, completely unconnected with home renovations, but couldn't think what. "It was a little difficult trying to fit the high ceilings and the central heating into the traditional Saren design, but I think that we managed very well. I hope you'll like it." 

Radanae fumbled with the fur trim on her cuffs. "Did you rebuild from the original plans? Or did you start from scratch?" 

"A bit of both. When I arrived, of course, it was already well on the way, and all the most important parts were finished." 

"Ah. Um. Did you find them to your taste? I recall the original architect being anxious that you should like them, and giving the Service no end of grief as to your personal preferences." 

Kally raised an eyebrow at this frank admission of the dual duties of the Service, but replied, "I liked them very much. Overall, I think that I've been very happy in Sarain." 

"That's good to know." Radanae appeared to be examining that statement on several levels. Apparently, whatever conclusion she came to must have satisfied her, for she then changed the subject to the fashions of the Bersone court and those of Sarain. Kally could not think of any deep-level interpretations that could be placed on that subject, so she freely entered into a discussion about the practicalities of fur in a snowstorm, but still kept wondering what Radanae was _really _asking.   
  


A groan from the bed indicated that Yevgen was still in no shape to stand, much less make polite conversation at dinner. Kally wished that she could join him, not just because that she didn't particularly feel comfortable making small talk with people who were analysing every single comment and every single movement that she made, even if for most of them it was probably unconsciously done. 

"I won't ask. I can see you're still ill," Kally sat next to him on the bed. He was pale, clammy, and his normally fair skin had taken on an alarming pale green tint. 

"Rather," he forced out a tight smile. "So. Looking forward to getting back?" 

Kally paused momentarily. "You know," she mused thoughtfully, "I am. I really am. Not that Bersone wasn't magnificent…" 

"It's a seething termite mound of corruption and greed," Yevgen interrupted bluntly. 

"Well," Kally ducked her head. "I suppose this last year I've got used to it just being…well, us. No real intrigue, unless you count the time the Chief of the K'miri Radeeh tried to knife _zhir_ Cadao in the foyer." 

"Ah," Yevgen swallowed heavily, looking particularly queasy as the ship hit a large wave, "back to Sarain, where at least potential murderers have the courtesy to give a five-second head start when they bring out the knife." He sighed. 

"Speaking of which, I had a talk to Radanae on the deck just now," Kally recalled. "It was a very odd conversation. Is she usually interested in architecture and winter fashion?" 

"Only when it suits her. And when it does, it's usually to keep someone in the same place for long enough for her to read body language and facial expression. Why? Was she prying into some deep, dark secret?" His teasing lost some of its effect when he was lying back looking completely miserable on the bed. 

"No." she shook her head. "Actually, I'd feel better if she was. I don't know what she was really asking." 

"Don't worry. You'll find out soon enough, that I can tell you from twenty-odd years of experience." He tried to get up on his elbows. "Now, um, if you wouldn't mind, could you hand me that basin over there? I think I'm about to puke again."   
  


Yevgen felt much better once they were back on dry land. The same could not be said of Kalasin, who had managed several more rather baffling conversations with various other members of the knights in the Service. Superficially, they were polite ones regarding Saren etiquette and the varieties of animal available for hunting near to capital. Kally had been around Imperial knights for long enough to know that they had no need to ask such questions, even to make small talk. That meant, however, that there were other motives at stake. Never an idealist (except on the subject of romance), Kally worried about the real purpose of the polite conversations. 

The Saren people were familiar enough with their new rulers that one or two offered a wave, and some a cheer as they rode past. They had learned that such large contingents of Imperials meant exotic goods in the markets, food shipments, and wealthy visitors willing to spend ridiculous amounts of money on all manner of useless things that they called 'souvenirs', but were no more remarkable than cheap bead-jewellery, rugs, useless old armour and swords that wouldn't even be of any use to a gardener as plant-stakes. 

"It is good to be back," Yevgen stood in his stirrups and gazed back at the long column of horses and wagons that followed them. He still rode his neat bay gelding, Everglade, whose intelligence was so human that sometimes Kally had trouble remembering that he was a horse, especially when he and Yevgen started to have a conversation. Usually, though, out of courtesy, they did it out of her hearing, as Yevgen was an accomplished enough wildmage to be able to converse as easily with animals he knew as he did with humans, and Kally did not have that Talent. 

"Yes," Kally answered softly. Because, despite all that was going on, she was glad to be in Sarain. In Sarain, where she was, more or less, as free as any noblewoman could be. Where she was respected and listened to for herself, not as somebody's daughter or somebody's wife, but as Kalasin, Queen of Sarain. Where she could make a difference, where she could make history. Even if, on a more personal level, it seemed that her more intense feelings for the King would never be returned. 

Where she could be home. _Yes_, she repeated to herself, _it's good to be home_.   


_Another note: No, it's not finished yet! Bear with me, another chapter, the first part of the 'second act' will be out soon! Please keep the reviews coming, I thrive on them!_   
  



	7. Familiar Faces

**Familiar Faces**

Spring came early for the second year in a row to Sarain, the carpets of wildflowers blanketing the lowlands, and creeping up into the lower reaches of the Roof for the first time in living memory. The superstitious saw it as yet another sign that Sarain had come into a new era of prosperity, a new beginning. 

Someone who was both morbid and fairly apathetic about the future of Sarain in any case thought that it might rather be all the blood that had soaked into the soil over the last few decades finally being given a chance to be used as fertiliser without another battle spoiling the harvest. Radanae Gavrillian had been nearly two months west of the Roof and that was really six weeks too long. The new embassy and Service offices were barely more than cleared sites with hardly-set foundations, the architects were engaged in screaming fights with the building contractors, the engineers kept whining about the instability of Saren soil in general without offering either alternatives or solutions, and the interior designer hadn't stopped sulking about the unavailability of first-quality silk/cashmere hangings for the reception rooms. The labourers had decided to form a trade union, proving that the Saren weren't at all resistant to all Imperial ideas (but one that Radanae could have lived with staying over the Roof until the projects were completed), and the hot spring that they had planned to use to heat part of the Embassy and for warm water proved to have a particularly strong stench of sulphur. 

All that Radanae could have coped with. She had been steeling herself for much worse, and she was privately thankful that there hadn't been more fights among the labourers, who came from nearly every ethnic group in Sarain, and had, until recently, been on opposing sides of the deadly conflict. What, of course, aggravated her more, was the behaviour of the King and Queen. 

Not on a professional level, no, they couldn't even give her the satisfaction of that. Evie and Kally were as competent as she had any right to expect them to be (though, truth be told Saren standards really weren't very high), and more than exceeded her expectations in the manner in which they managed their wildly disparate Council, and those few courtiers who remained from the various Courts that had preceded them. What _really_ irritated her was the way they behaved around each other. 

Not that they were rude or unpleasant to each other. If anything, it was the other way round. Yevgen was always on his best behaviour around Kalasin, and she around him. Radanae would have expected such during the first few months of their reign, when they were just starting to get to know each other, but rather disturbing when one considered that they'd been over a year on the throne. It would have been understandable had they not managed to hit it off, but, that was clearly not the case. A few polite enquiries to the staff had revealed the planned 'Queen's wing', originally intended as Kalasin's living quarters (so had they not got along, they could see each other as little as possible – it was at the opposite end of the building to the rooms Yevgen had claimed), had long since been converted to suites for guests, and that the King and Queen, contrary to all Saren royal protocol, shared a bedroom – all the time. This was imparted in tones of great secrecy and slight scandal from the young Saren woman assigned as one Kally's sewing-maids, who spilled everything in return for silence on the matter of being caught with a footman in a laundry cupboard. 

From what Radanae could gather, their problem seemed to be the same as the one most often encountered between her peers. Fellow knights had often known each other since early childhood, and so any romances usually started as fun between friends, before it got more serious, and, inevitably, ended. Usually with a great deal of acrimony, shouting, crying, social snubbing, and general unpleasantness. Yevgen was as aware of that as Radanae was. Selera had involved a great many tears. Lara, heart-wrenching letters (that she, practical girl, tended to reply to with about a paragraph enquiring about his health and family). He was also perfectly aware that it would be politically impossible for any such parting, so, perhaps, in order to spare both of them, he was consciously keeping Kalasin at a distance, treating her with deference, with courtesy, with friendship. Radanae knew him well enough – or at, least, thought she did, which for her amounted to practically the same thing – to know that it wasn't working. From her observations, Kalasin was taking Yevgen's behaviour as a guide. Radanae might not have known the Queen for as long, but Kally also hadn't had the sort of training Yevgen had in schooling his body language and emotions. Radanae suspected very much that Kally wouldn't be terribly averse to bridging that distance somewhat. 

Radanae sighed as she flung her scarf back over her shoulder, hearing the distant steps and urgent summons of the architects' apprentice, calling for assistance in negotiating with the newly-elected Secretary of the (newly formed) Labourers Union about payscales for overtime. Coming from a long line of those who considered themselves progressives was a pain, Radanae thought, as she firmly shelved the temptation to call for bodyguards and vicious dogs to set on the obnoxious cretin, and calculated whether time-and-a-half for evening work in the lengthening days would make a significant enough difference in the finish dates to justify the expense…   
  
  


Kalasin was going through yet more worrying reports about the situation on the western front in her office. King Barnesh must have thought that the recent influx of Imperial troops, diplomats, and tourists must have been more intimidating that anyone had thought. His fortifications along the winding border began to verge on the ridiculous. There were mutterings among the borderers on both sides, for they'd a long tradition of saving the border guards the bother and paperwork on duties and import-export taxes for trade-goods by taking care of that sort of thing themselves, so to speak. Yevgen, in one of his less serious moods, proposed that they annex a mile or so of Maren just inside the border, to save themselves the bother of building fortifications. That was after he'd had to have discussions with the captains in charge of northern patrols about incursions by Galla-based bandits into the fur-trading towns near the border. 

While she could not deny that having the considerable resources of the Imperial Diplomatic Service at such ready disposal was very convenient for her, she was looking forward to when they moved to their own buildings in city proper (the Palace was on the outskirts, though, in the recent months, there had been an amazing amount of building going on around it), not simply because it was getting a bit difficult to locate all the staff, as they were scattered in rented houses all over the city. Of them all, only Radanae was still staying in an apartment in the Palace proper, though curiously not in the luxurious guest quarters anymore, as she professed a preference for a simpler suite intended for visiting academics and lent advisers, that boasted a wonderful view of the river and forests on the outskirts of the city. 

She exhaled heavily as she put her pen down, then smiled as she looked around the room. No more did she have to put up with quarters that someone else had designed as suitable for a princess. Even back in Corus, her rooms had been designed for a leisured lady, with her proper desk, a battered old monster that had long since seen better days, looking conspicuously out of place, while the ladylike little thing originally provided was banished to a corner as a shelf. Granted, her office had been finished and furnished before she'd arrived, but Yevgen was at pains to tell her that she was free to change it as she wished. 

She hadn't, actually. She was pleased to note that her husband's tastes were quite similar to her own, for the furniture was simple and practical, well suited to the more workhorse décor of the 'working Palace'. Imported marble had been used in the 'public' areas and reception rooms, but Yevgen had been keen to use local materials for the more private areas of the Palace. Bookshelves lined the walls, obscuring the cheerful pale blue that Yevgen had organised to replace the original pink once when Kally was away. The floor was of pale beech wood, several shades lighter than her furniture, covered in wool rugs with abstract geometric designs in blue, white, and yellow (which had quietly replaced the original, fussy gold-and-red ones within days of her arrival). There was a small fireplace of the granite that was so plentiful in Sarain, and a large window to let in light. Her own desk was ample for her needs, and yet not so large that she appeared to be dwarfed behind it. 

It was, she supposed, where she knew that she was doing something, consequences of which might be either positive or negative. 

But damn if it didn't feel good. 

A knock on the doorframe made her look up (she worked with the door open unless she had something to hide. There was no way one could hide the Maren fortifications). It was Yevgen, dressed rather nicely, but with wet hair. 

"Ah. Kally," he began, looking as though he was picking his words carefully. "Have you a minute?" 

"Yes," she stood up and walked over to the door, "what is it?" 

He had an uncomfortable expression on his face, "It was going to be a surprise, but I was going to tell you today anyway, but they made better time than I expected…" 

"Who?" 

"The Tortallan delegation," he answered, looking apologetic as her jaw dropped, "I thought they wouldn't be here for a few more days. I was looking at the site for the new signalling tower this morning so the message didn't get to me until an hour ago. Anyway," he winced, "they're coming up the main road, and they'll be in the city in about an hour." 

"Do you know who's in it?" Kally asked, surprised that she hadn't known – but then again, he had said that he was keeping it secret on purpose, and she had known no people like the Imperials quite so fond of secrets, "The delegation, I mean?" 

He thought for a second. "Duke Gareth of Naxen came out of retirement to head it, and he's accompanied by D…I mean, Lady Alanna, Commander Buri, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop and a small party of knights and assistants. Your sister, too, is with them, though I gather Princess Lianne is both a late and unofficial addition to the party. Sorry" he added, seeing the expression on her face. "I thought it would be a nice surprise." 

"It is, it is…it's just a bit of a…well…surprise," she stammered. "I suppose we'd better start organising dinner and…" 

"All done," he interrupted, "just needs to be put into action. You didn't think I'd surprise you with both the delegation and the planning?" 

Well, no, he wouldn't. He was both considerate and, when he set his mind to it, organised. So, with that, Kally locked the papers into a filing cabinet and went up to their room to get changed.   
  


Buri's eyes visibly misted as soon as the Palace came into view. "Windlords," she whispered in awe. "They rebuilt it…almost perfectly," her voice went back to normal. Before them, the imposing granite of the Saren Royal Palace, festooned with flags, the large, well kept grounds, the capital of Sarain all around them, people pointing curiously, whispering and staring. They all knew that Thayet _jian_ Wilima was now Queen of Tortall, and that her daughter was now Queen of Sarain, in a ironic twist. 

"It's…big," was Alanna could say as she nudged her horse closer to that of the other woman. 

"They didn't build the tower, of course," Buri said matter-of-factly, wiping away a stray tear or two with the back of her hand. 

"So Kally lives there?" Lianne asked as her mare decided to join her two stablemates. Princess Lianne was not quite so interested in the martial arts as her older sister, being gentler in the mould of her grandmother, but like many young noblewomen from liberal families of her generation, she could take care of herself with bow and dagger long enough for help to come, and ride like a…well, like a Rider, really. "It looks like an army barracks," she observed. 

Buri cracked a small smile. "It is an army barracks – or was, at least. It doesn't really matter, though – it's been rebuilt like the original" 

"Excuse me ladies, for interrupting the reminiscing, but I'm not so young as I once was, and I'd appreciate it if we could admire the architecture from inside the Palace." Duke Gareth, still stubbornly insisting on riding despite his problems with arthritis, was not at all happy about staying still outside in the nippy spring winds.   
  
  


"So now I know why you had the others move out of the guest wing as soon as they found places!" Kally chuckled. 

"Well, partially," Yevgen admitted with a small smile. "I have to confess the other reason is that most of them don't like being in such a big building anyway – too many opportunities for spies. And if there's one thing a spy despises, it's another spy." He made a wry face. "Try saying that ten times fast. The ones who have grown up with it – that is, the knights, and the ones from extremely wealthy merchant, legal and banking families – don't mind, because the precautions are second-nature, but for most it's a steep learning curve. No, they're happier in their own houses in the city, where they can do as they like, and make as much mess as they like. I also gather that you're also more comfortable with fewer spies at the dinner table." 

They were in the foyer, where they waited for the Tortallans to arrive. The dark specks that were their horses were coming into view. 

"By the way, I had the suites in the second guest wing prepared for the higher-ranking guests, and they're all ready if you want to use them. I drew up a list of suggestions, but since I don't know them all that well, I'm not sure I matched up the right person to the right room." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a piece of paper. 

The 'second guest wing', Kally was well aware, was originally the Queen's wing, intended for her should she and Yevgen not get along. It was about as far away from their private apartments as one could get without running into the stables. Once she'd arrived though, that suggestion had been very quietly dropped and Yevgen had simply moved all his things into one dressing room instead of spreading his mess around (it was a very big apartment, with her dressing room about the size of her room in Corus). The Queen's wing was then re-done as quarters for visiting diplomats, complete with reception rooms, offices, studies, and even kitchens, laundries, and a bathhouse. 

He'd made a pretty decent stab at it, she had to give him that, but then decided to swap a few, to move Alanna and George into a room with a view of the mountains instead of the city, and to give Duke Gareth the one suite on the ground floor, so that he would not have to climb more stairs than were absolutely necessary. 

By this time, the party had drawn up in the forecourt of the Palace, so Kally took a deep breath and stepped outside to greet her family and friends.   
  


They had barely dismounted before the great doors opened and Kally came out. Buri thought that while at first glance she hadn't changed all that much physically, but that, somehow, Kally seemed happy, much happier than she'd ever been in Tortall, and certainly much happier than Buri could have imagined anyone who'd had the task of rebuilding Sarain. 

But all that was forgotten as the Queen of Sarain, in a most unregal manner, came and threw her arms around them. 

"I'm so glad you're here!" Kally said, ushering them all in, then allowing them to pause as they took in the magnificent interior. 

If the exterior of the Palace, with its harsh granite looked intimidating, the interior, with graceful marble and mother-of-pearl inserts, was even more so, especially combined with the jarring effect as soon as one stepped over the threshold. It was patterned in the Imperial style, luxurious and grand. The highly polished mosaic floors boasted abstract patterns, and stories from Saren, K'mir, Doi, Eastern and Imperial mythology. Kally rather thought that the Imperials used their gods only as excuses to have parties to eat and drink too much. Certainly she'd never seen any of them in prayer or worship of any sort. 

Yevgen had hung back to allow Kally the first chance to greet her family and friends, but met them in the foyer to issue the usual courtesies, and to invite the principal members for a private dinner with Kally and himself before the formal reception to be held the next day. 

He certainly must have had it all organised – probably weeks in advance, if Kally knew him – but he made the excuse that he had to do something last-minute about the entertainment and left them in the foyer with a bow. 

Kally knew that the real reason was that he wanted to give her more time with her family before they had to be formal again, and led them in the direction of the Queen's suite, after directing a convenient steward to take the more minor members to the original guest quarters. 

Buri raised her eyebrows as she recognised the direction, but said nothing as they made their way there, exchanging news and making small talk. 

"So how's that boy treating you, Kally?" Duke Gareth asked, mock-sternly, though Kally knew very well that Yevgen had made a very good impression on her great-uncle when he'd visited Tortall. 

"Well, thanks," she barely finished when Lianne interrupted. 

"Gods! To think I'd almost forgotten how absolutely gorgeous he was! I swear, he looks even more luscious that he did last year!" she gave a mock dreamy-sigh, "Are you sure he doesn't have any brothers?" 

"No. As you're well aware," Kally smiled at her younger sister. 

"I am amazed at how much the exterior resembles the original," Buri said at last, when they finally passed through the doors that lead to the Queen's wing. 

Someone had forgotten to remove the small Tortallan crest carvings in the doorframe. Kally had only just remembered when George decided to point it out. "Do you do this to every delegation?" he asked with a smile, but seemed a little taken aback when Kally blushed slightly. 

"This was supposed to be the Queen's wing," she confessed, "but there was a…slight change in plans, so we decided to convert it to guest quarters." 

"So where are you now, Kally?" Lianne had to ask. 

"Oh, up the other end," Kally said vaguely, ignoring Buri's raised eyebrows, "now, this is the main reception room," she waved her hand around the wood-floored, amber-panelled room they stood in, perfect for small, select cocktail parties. "The rest of it is through here…" 

She showed them through the large wing, managing to give her great-uncle the ground floor suite without making him seem like an invalid (he understandably hated that), by emphasising the little private garden it looked out upon, and the convenience it was for his dogs (he now had a pair of dear little terriers who travelled with him).   
  


"It's lovely, Kally," Lianne bounced on the large bed in her room, then flopped down in a most unladylike manner. "You look…happy. Is it tough here?" 

Kally snorted, "Take your typical Saren blockhead, add a K'mir firebrand or two, and then a completely intransigent Doi – and that's just who I have to go through to get some breakfast – yes. But, you know. I think I am happy here. I'm doing something useful." 

"Not to mention it's with Prince Gorgeous," Lianne cocked her head, "So spill it Kal. Am I going to be an aunt soon? I mean, you must have at least tried…" 

Kally went bright red, much to her humiliation. "Well, yes…but…" 

"The inside doesn't match the outside? Oh well, you can't have everything…" 

"Oh no, it's not that. Yevgen's pretty nice. We're friends and all…I mean…" 

"Come on, you're not going to convince me that you're 'just friends', you know." 

"I don't think 'just friends' would violate Saren protocol to the degree than you two have, even if, technically speaking, neither of you are really Saren," Buri remarked from the doorway. 

"Protocol?" Lianne looked baffled. 

"Saren Kings and Queens don't so much as see each other any more than is absolutely necessary for dynastic and ceremonial reasons," Buri said dryly, coming into the room, "as I'm sure your Council will have told you repeatedly." 

Kally gave a one shouldered shrug, "So? He's good company." 

"What on earth are you going on about?" 

"Nothing. It's just sharing a room, Lia, nothing major." 

"It is to the Saren," Buri remarked. 

"Not to us. It's perfectly sensible arrangement when we have to work together all the time anyway, it saves having to get up and run across the entire Palace when we get an idea in the middle of the night. I mean some of the best ideas we've had we come up with in…well," Kally stopped aware that she was going red again, "anyway, you must have lots of unpacking to do, I'll see you at dinner, bye," she quickly slid of the bed and hurried out of the room. 

Buri and Lianne exchanged glances. 

"Well." 

"Well." 

A pause. 

"Well, I'd better go and find some water and a change of clothes," Lianne announced as she searched for her bags. 

"And then?" Buri asked, amused, having a good suspicion as to what her charge was up to. 

"And then, I am going to drag Lady Keladry out of her quarters in the next wing, and we are going to try and see if there are any of King Yevgen's friends we recognise here, and, if so, hunt them down and see if they're seeing what I'm seeing."   



	8. Plots Arise

  
_For those who haven't read all of TP's novels, from memory, Kalasin's only speaking role comes in 'Wild Magic', as an eight year old. However, she is mentioned in most of the books thereafter, and makes a small cameo appearance in 'Squire'. One of the most enjoyable challenges in these stories has been trying to imagine how a character will develop and change over a decade, while keeping it consistent with Kally's character in her all-too-brief appearance, the hints that TP drops from time to time, and Kally's general upbringing._

**Plots arise**

"I would never have imagined that the Palace would be this big," Lianne said as they sat down for dinner. "When I was here last time for the coronation, I would never have thought it so." 

"We have changed the plans somewhat," Yevgen admitted, "originally, we intended to have several different buildings within the Palace compound, to house the garrison, the bureaucrats, the living quarters, and such, after the Imperial fashion. Last time you were here, only the living quarters and the actual governing offices were finished. However, we soon learned that it would be more efficient to place them all within separate wings of the same building, and then somebody found the original blueprints for the Royal Palace. And the rest, so to say, is history." 

They were in the royal couple's private dining room, which, like the rest of their large apartment, was cheerful and unpretentious, though everything was of the first quality. Alanna was reminded rather of Sir Myles's townhouse, rather than the Palace in Corus. 

There were only nine of them at dinner – the King and Queen, obviously, Buri, Lianne, Duke Gareth, Alanna, George, Radanae, and Keladry, looking as though she had no idea what she was doing there. The food was simple, but well cooked, the serving staff were efficient, and one didn't need to fear that the crockery, cutlery or the glassware would blind one due to excessive use of gilt. Alanna couldn't think of a meal she had enjoyed more with foreign royalty, even if she had known one of them for all her life. The meal passed quickly, as it does with good food and innocuous small talk.   


Dessert was cleared away, and the servants discreetly left the room after providing everyone with drinks and chocolates, before anyone said anything that caused anybody else the slightest amount of discomfort. 

Oddly enough, of them all, it was Duke Gareth. 

Looking back though, it was something that they should have expected sooner or later. 

It wasn't said with any particular inflection. Indeed, it appeared to be more a conversation starter than anything else. He wasn't even looking directly at them, instead preoccupied with one of his salt-and-pepper terriers who had come to nose for scraps and pats. The scruffy little dogs were a far cry from the elegant hounds and enormous mastiffs expected for the nobility, but he had a soft spot for them due to their unbreakable spirits and stubborn wills. The late Duchess of Naxen, who disliked them, had never allowed them inside the manor, and perhaps their permanent fixture by the Duke's side was a some irreverent way for him to remember that fierce, determined, spirited, imperious…_wonderful_ woman he had loved for over half a century. 

But say it he did, that question most dreaded by young couples the world over. 

"So, Yevgen, Kally, is there any chance of me becoming a great-great-uncle soon? I won't be around for much longer, you know. Young Jon is coming along very nicely – the Court Artist – Rain or whatever the fellow's name is – painted some watercolours for you." 

Roald and Shinko, predictably enough, had named their first child, a boy, after Roald's father. During the one conversation that Yevgen and Kally had about that subject, they had been in complete agreement. When they had children (because neither of them for a minute imagined that they would not – Kally found it personally a little surprising, all things considered, that she wasn't pregnant yet), they would not have regurgitated names of various relatives. Not only was it doing a disservice to the child not to take the bother to think up a new name, from a practical perspective, it was going to be much easier at gatherings to call people if of them people didn't have the same name. 

Meanwhile, though, there was a silence at the table that had to be broken somehow. There were a lot of glances being exchanged at the table, though Radanae and Keladry appeared to be oblivious, being seated next to each other at one end of the table, discussing horses, dogs, and for some strange reason, sparrows. One or two were flying around the dining room, much to the excitement of Duke Gareth's terriers and a very ugly dog who had somehow managed to join them. 

Appearances can be deceptive. 

"No…not yet, Uncle Gareth," Kally replied hesitantly, after a nervous glance exchanged with her husband. 

"Oh? Well, that's surprising. Would have thought that young people like you would have…" 

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the familiarity of the company, but even Alanna's jaw dropped open at the Duke's following remarks. Radanae dropped her teacup with a clatter, not because of the advice he gave – on that, she'd given far more ribald advice under the influence of a few nice chardonnays at parties – but that it came from someone outwardly so elderly, so staid, and, from intelligence reports, so relatively conservative (for he was, except possibly in the area of female knights, where he thought that anyone who could survive the training and the Ordeal at least deserved a chance). 

Yevgen and Kally, though, showed no signs of being the least perturbed. One got the feeling that they got that sort of advice all the time, from their rough, but well-meaning Council, who, when it got down to it, vastly preferred their current rulers to anyone else their opponents could propose. Consequently, then, they were anxious to see the succession secured, knowing very well that the death of both monarchs would mean that Sarain would be absorbed into the Empire proper, no more than a border buffer province, with not even the pretense of independence.   
  


"He's not _normally_ like that," Kally said worriedly as they got ready for bed. She had already dismissed her maid, so Yevgen helped her unlace the gown. She hoped he didn't notice her involuntary shiver as he placed an affectionate kiss between her shoulder blades before he stepped away. 

He was hoping that she didn't notice his hands trembling, but that's a different story entirely. 

He gave an easy one shouldered shrug as he rolled his clothes into a ball and pitched them neatly into the laundry basket inside his dressing room, followed by his shoes, then shrugged easily into the rather worn, but comfortable robe he wore around their bedroom. Kally sighed a little as she headed into her dressing room to scramble out her clothes and into her own robe. It really wasn't worth putting on a nightdress when they were home. It was going to end up on the floor anyway. 

He was looking at the water clock with a slightly amused expression on his face. 

"It's barely one in the morning," he told her as she came in. "I do believe that this is the earliest we've gotten in all month." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

He was already in bed, sheets pooled around his waist, robe flung over the bedside table. It took less than a minute for Kally to discard her own robe and join him. 

"Is that so?" she purred, pushing him down into the pillows. The overall seductive effect was completely ruined when she burst out into giggles, "Well, we'll just have to find something to do then, won't we?" 

It was as it always was, Kally thought drowsily some time later. It was enjoyable, it was satisfying, and eventually they would have children out of it. Even if there wasn't the grand romantic passion of the novels that she always denied that she read, at least she had fun. 

After all, that was more than a girl in her position could hope for. She was perfectly happy with it. 

Wasn't she?   
  


"Where are Lianne and Keladry?" Duke Gareth turned around as soon as the Tortallan delegation returned to their quarters. 

"They went off with Dama Radanae somewhere," Buri informed him from the back of the group. "I did try to dissuade them, but Lianne all but dragged the Imperial off, so I insisted that Kel go with them." 

Gareth looked at the smaller woman with a frown. "I wonder. What on earth could the Imperials want? I hear Myles finds out about a new agent almost every month." 

"Not nearly so often. We haven't got the resources they have," George answered the unspoken question. "For every one we find, I can probably say there are two or three we won't. If it makes you feel better, she won't be the one assigned to get new information." 

The Duke exhaled audibly. "Then Myles's agent has done the investigations?" 

"Not nearly so many as we would like, and certainly not so many as they undoubtedly have on us. He only has one agent there, and all he's been able the access is the public files and records. But yes, speculation is that the young lady gossiping with our young ladies over tea and sweet cakes is going to go very far in the Diplomatic Service." 

He did not need to say the obvious. 

Buri had, by now, softly closed the doors to the wing behind them, and they made their way to one of the sitting rooms. 

"I suppose," Alanna said thoughtfully, "that they're both sensible enough girls not to give anything away. Besides," she added, "it will do Keladry good to have more conversations with female knights of her generation." 

"There's nothing much we can do about it now," Buri remarked practically as she sprawled on a couch. 

Duke Gareth took a comfortable armchair, one of the terriers climbing onto his lap, the other taking up position as a foot warmer. "No," he admitted, "it would not do to be wandering around a foreign Palace – even one belonging to my great-niece – in the middle of the night. I can only hope that my other niece and the lady knight keep their wits when they're around a very slippery lady."   
  
  


"So why are you really here?" Lianne asked bluntly as soon as they entered Radanae's apartment. "By the way, fantastic view," she added, but it was clearly very much an afterthought. 

Radanae raised as eyebrow as she lit more oil lamps. "As a young, knighted junior diplomat from a distinguished family, I am, of course here as the official representative of the Empress Rislyn, to oversee the construction of the Imperial Embassy and the provincial offices of the Imperial Diplomatic Service." She let the corners of her mouth tilt up slightly. After the years spent in the much more subtle Imperial court, it was a relief to see the plainer Tortallan manners again. 

"Codswallop," Lianne said, as Keladry looked as though she had no idea how to salvage the situation. "You're the inheriting daughter of one of the richest families in the Empire. You've got more real power than almost all your superiors, and you have a private line to the entire Imperial Family. You could be anywhere in the Empire you like. You're not in Sarain exchanging insults with building crews simply by chance assignment." 

Kel looked as though, had it not been dreadfully impolite, she was going to pound her princess into the rather nice hardwood floor (it was made up of many different types of timbers, ranging from pale mountain oak to deep mahogany). Such directness to a near-stranger would have been unthinkable even in the famously fiery Kalasin, much less the quieter Lianne. 

After barely a second of shocked silence, Radanae laughed. "You're right. You know, you're the first person to remark on that. Everyone else thinks either that I'm coming just to carve out a name for myself away from the rest of the family, or that Yevgen's sisters want someone to keep an eye on him. What made you think of it?" 

Lianne went bright red, as what she had just said finally registered. "I…I…suppose just that it didn't really make sense. I mean, you could make a name doing anything, anywhere. You certainly didn't have to do this." 

"No, I don't. Any ideas? And it's not either of the ones that people at home suspect. Well, not really. I believe that it's something quite similar to the reason that you wanted to come and speak to me tonight about your sister and my friend. Tea?" she asked as a soft whistling indicated that the small kettle on the hearth was boiling. She politely did not make any remarks on the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of either of the other young women in the room. 

"With respect, lady," Kel took a sip of the green tea. It was curiously similar, yet completely different to Yamani green tea, somewhat mellower, but with a slight peppery bite. "How did you know?" 

"Why else would you be coming to see me so soon after your arrival? – so soon after having a conversation with her Majesty, might I add." 

She pulled out a tin of cookies from some hidden recess in the low table that was placed at the juncture of three couches. "Had to go down and make them myself." She confessed. "Saren cooking isn't really big on things like this." The cookies may have looked a bit irregular, but the taste more than made up for their appearance. 

"I didn't know knights learnt how to cook," Lianne remarked, with a sly sideways look at Kel. 

"Survival skill," Radanae confided. "You cannot cover tens of miles a day on salt meat and dry bread. You just collapse after a while. Secrets of the Swords – good food, good boots, and good pay." 

Kel had to chuckle at the succinct summary of military morale, then had to leap to pull Jump away from the cookie tin. Radanae laughed and pulled out another tin, of rather more dramatically deformed cookies and gave two to the dog. She ruffled his fur as he politely left the rug to eat his treats where it would be easier to lick the crumbs from the floor. 

"This is remarkably like another conversation I had a few months ago," Radanae remarked to nobody in particular, then got down to business. "Your Highness, might I inquire about the purpose of the honour of your visit?" 

"You know very well, Dama," Lianne put her teacup down. "My sister is head-over-heels in love with King Yevgen…" 

"And, according to his sister, his friends from the Academy, including, most importantly, myself," Radanae grinned, "he's in love with her." 

"So we all know where we are, page fifty-three of 'Romantic rubbish'," the words came out before Kel could stop them and the Tortallan knight went bright red at the words. 

"Yes, precisely," Lianne acknowledged with a toss of her head. "She's convinced that he doesn't really care for her as anything more than a Queen and a friend," 

"He wants to keep things that way, even if it means that he's not getting what he really wants, because he's scared of losing even that." 

"So we all understand each other?" Kel put in as her colour went back to normal. 

"Yes," Radanae nodded, her eyes meeting those of the other women. 

"You came all this way to patch up my sister's marriage?" Lianne looked amazed. 

"I'm not that romantic," Radanae snorted. "I needed a break, and a challenge. This does both." She pulled out a piece of paper, pen, and ink from the mysterious compartment in the table. "Any suggestions? And just getting them in a situation together is pretty uncreative. They've always shared a room if they're both in the same place and the maids say that they're not exactly reviewing laws together every night….."   
  
  


_OK, so what if the 'my' version of Duchess of Naxen is probably pure fluff? The woman has only had one mention in the three quartets so far, where she's described as 'imperious' and that's when she's trying to organise people during Jon's coronation - so she's got a forceful personality and is cool under crisis. Anyway, I rather like Duke Gareth and Gary (who turned out rather well), so I wanted to give them a pretty good home life (that's if they were ever at home). I imagine her as elegant and aristocratically handsome rather than beautiful, very authoritative, organised and extremely intelligent. If you have an objection, hey, this is fan fiction, and a very humble tribute to the creator, Tamora Pierce.___

_By the way, my homepage is up and running, so please come and visit. I'll post there before I post here to see how the stories look on screen anyway. It's at http://www.geocities.com/fhwon1. Feedback, reviews, always appreciated!_


	9. Weather Mage

**Weather Mage**

It was barely past dawn, but that made no difference to the Duke of Naxen. He rose early, a habit he still kept from his long-ago days as a page and squire, and one he saw no reason to change. After a few words to the rather harassed looking servant who brought him a simple breakfast of fresh-baked bread, butter, and cider, he set off for the training yards, the terriers wuffling along beside him. 

Lianne and Keladry had returned in the early hours of the morning, heads together, clearly plotting something. Since neither was the sort who plotted over things so minor as social scandals or love affairs, he gave the matter a little concern. He sighed a little, and drew his cloak a little tighter around himself as he reached the large grounds behind the Palace. Springtime might have been evident in the abundant meadows and flocks of birds, but there was a definite bite in the air. 

The yards were already more than half-full, with men and women practising all forms of martial arts. Some were familiar, some not so. Duke Gareth watched them all with an appraising eye. The standard was high, though not inhumanly so (as the current urban myths circulating around Corus about the Imperials nearly two years after their major visit stated), and he took particular note of the various styles and weaponry favoured by the female knights, so as to fulfil the slight favour that the Training Master back in Corus had asked of him. While he would never consider himself either a progressive or a liberal, Gareth the Elder had long since accepted the inevitability of the odd female knight or two within Tortall's ranks. Despite decades of marriage to a woman who could make battle-hardened mercenaries bow their heads in shame, he still retained enough idealism to imagine that a lady knight or two might make their male colleagues a little more gentleman-like. Though he would have gone to the rack rather than admit it, out of all the knights that he had trained, his favourite was indisputably a plucky redhead by the name of Alan of Trebond. He had been less shocked that he would have thought when Alanna's real identity was revealed, and thereafter treated the matter as simply a change of pronoun and address. 

Kally was leaning against one of the columns that supported the upper levels of the Palace, watching her husband as he wove and ducked around the blows aimed at him by a very large member of his bodyguard. The King wore the plain, close-fitting knee length breeches and sleeveless shirt that seemed a sort of unofficial uniform for unarmed fighting among the Imperials. Gareth watched for a second, with his practised, slightly critical eye, before reaching his great niece. 

"Good morning Kally," he greeted her, as one of the terriers placed his front paws on the Queen's knees, in their no-nonsense grey breeches. 

"'Morning, Uncle Gareth," Kally replied. She was dressed for riding, and carried a plain, slightly curved sword of the sort her mother usually bore. She caught her uncle looking at it. "It was a gift from Kay," he lips tilted up slightly. "Here, they tend to be used by civilian diplomats who haven't been training with a sword since childhood, because it's felt that anyone can pick this up." 

Kally was, in fact, a decent swordswoman, though Gareth knew (and so did Kally, as a matter of fact), that had she been able to get the same sort of training as a boy of noble birth when she was younger, she could easily have been an exceptional one. It was but one more small regret of many that she had managed to accumulate in her short life. 

"Do you train?" Gareth asked lightly. 

Kally nodded. "A little, and mainly with the female knights. Archery three times a week, some sword, a little dagger, and occasionally unarmed. But Yevgen and I ride nearly every day. Don't worry Uncle, I'm not training today. I'm just waiting for him to finish up. The sword's just for show – no use advertising to the world that one relies completely on bodyguards keeps you as well as themselves alive, after all." 

The King went crashing into the hard-packed dirt of the practice yard in a decidedly unregal heap. The bodyguard held out a casual hand to help his monarch up. 

Gareth watched with interest as Yevgen stood stiffly, then had the guard demonstrate just how he had managed to pull the not-exactly-diminutive-King over his shoulder. They practised the move several times (with Yevgen collecting quite a nice collection of bruises), before the King was satisfied with his ability to fend off the tactic. Though the Duke liked his nephew both as man and as King, he could not imagine Jonathan of Conté taking being so comprehensively bettered in a contest half so well. Gareth knew that Yevgen was good – his effortless defeat of Sir Garvey of Runnerspring nearly two years was proof enough of that – but was more impressed by the manner he handled his defeat. 

Evidently, that was the end of the King's training session, for Yevgen's opponent made a sketchy bow and went off to harass some other opponent and the King came towards them, wiping his brow with a towel that had mysteriously appeared via a hovering attendant. 

"Good morning, Gareth," he said easily, recalling the Duke's request that Yevgen simply use his first name the night before. "Are your rooms to your liking?" 

"Yes, very much so. The boys," he indicated the terriers, now inspecting Yevgen, "enjoy the garden very much." 

"That is good to know." There was a slight pause, "I suppose I should change if we're to go riding today. Will you join us, sir?" the last was directed at Gareth, who nodded his agreement as Yevgen went off inside the building. 

"How do you like it here, Kally?" the Duke asked softly, as soon as he was sure that there was no one in easy earshot. 

"More than I expected to," was her honest answer. She had always found it easier to speak to her great-uncle than to her parents. "I mean, there are the usual difficulties, but here I'm doing something important. I'm not just sitting around listening to the Countess natter on about the correct way to walk down stairs or the different types of curtsey. I'm making a difference in people's lives – hopefully for the better." 

Gareth had always had slight misgivings about sending a girl of Kally's temperament to King's Reach to learn the social graces. He felt that she could manage an equally good understanding of etiquette at the Palace, while making it easier to maintain a higher standard of academic study. 

"I meant…on a more _personal_ level. You have undoubtedly done more good in Sarain than any of her rulers in the last few decades, and even if you do nothing else for the decades that you will rule, you will be honoured for the peace you have brought. No…perhaps I should have said…are you _happy_, Kal?" 

The silence was broken by the clang of weaponry, the thud of falling bodies, the occasional curse, but that all seemed to be very much in the background for the Duke of Naxen as he watched his great-niece's face. Not a flicker of emotion showed, which meant that she was going through some very complicated mental processes. 

"You know, uncle, I think…" 

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sound of Lianne's voice as the Tortallan princess came towards them. She was followed by a characteristically silent Kel, and Radanae, the Imperial looking as though she would far rather be in bed, but that since she was up anyway, she might as well join the others. 

Kally made a remark about the last, as Radanae was the sort that would never voluntarily be seen before seven in the morning. The other woman grimaced. "I remember now why I left these hours behind with my schooldays. However," here she bowed slightly to Lianne and Kel, "I promised her Highness and her Ladyship that I would be honoured to show them a little of the Saren countryside while they were here." 

"It looked absolutely beautiful as we were coming here, we can't wait!" Lianne's enthusiasm was so obvious that one could almost hear the exclamation marks. "We're going to ride out just as soon as we can organise the horses! Do you have time to come?" 

Since Kally had already indicated to Duke Gareth that she and Yevgen already intended to ride out that very morning, she could not very well say no. However, she did take a moment or two to glare at Lianne, sure that the younger princess was up to something. Whatever it was, Kally wasn't anticipating whatever could have Lianne greeting the morning with anything other than sullen acceptance.   
  


Sarain's capital did not quite have the bustling early morning madness of Bersone, or even Corus, so there were only a few people up to greet the monarchs and their guests as they ambled their horses through the quiet streets. In those cities, the self-same streets would be full of bakers and dairymen, carters and fishmongers, beggars and thieves, all plying their trade while the rest of the city stirred reluctantly from its slumber. 

Despite the recent wars, the countryside surrounding the capital was relatively safe, enabling the party to ride out with little more than a token bodyguard. One pair rode ahead, scouting for possible dangers, while six more ranged around and behind the group. It was a fairly low-key affair, though it was already common knowledge in the capital that the King and Queen rode in the countryside most mornings. 

Kally took advantage of the ride to show Duke Gareth the various sites of interest, and to point out particularly lovely vantagepoints where he could see the true beauty of the city. Yevgen rode at the Duke's other side, largely quiet except when he made some remark about the weather. 

Whenever his great-niece paused in her commentary, the Duke took time to gaze at the younger man. The King of Sarain was still very much a puzzle, and despite Gareth's decades of experience in reading young men, he still did not know half so much as he would like about his relative-by-marriage as he should like. Personable and polite, yet that self-same pleasantness seemed to create an invisible barrier around him. Kalasin seemed happy enough with him, as he seemed happy enough with Kally, but Gareth thought he could detect underlying currents in the few conversations between them that he had heard that did not seem consistent with their outwardly courteous friendship. He could not quite pinpoint it, but it was something to consider further. 

Gareth turned stiffly in the saddle to ensure that three other young women in the party were keeping up. Dama Radanae seemed to be playing the role of the sleep-deprived tour guide, pointing out landmarks to Lianne and Keladry, though with a deal less alertness than Kally did. 

Buri, Alanna, and George, being the imminently sensible and mature people that they were, had elected not to come, by the simple measure of still being in bed. 

The three were obviously plotting something, as Gareth had ever known any young person capable of getting up at that hour for something as pedestrian as an equestrian excursion in what was, frankly, a rather dull neighbourhood. With a slight bow and a stock excuse, he dropped back to the trio. Kally and Yevgen nudged their horses further ahead, and rounded a slight hill, putting them temporarily out of sight. 

"Are you enjoying the ride, ladies?" Gareth asked brightly, as they caught up with him. "Lovely brisk morning, isn't it?" 

He was somewhat amused at the dirty look that was almost shot his way by the diplomat. It appeared to have been halted mid-glare, and instead project as perfectly normal eye contact. 

"Yes it is, Sarain is lovely in the springtime," Radanae muttered, then covered her mouth in a discreet yawn. 

The Duke turned to the women he knew better. "How do you two like Sarain?" 

"Well, we haven't seen very much of it," Lianne was the first to answer. "But our rooms are very nice, the food is very nice, and the scenery is very nice." 

High above them, there was a soft chirping sound, and then a ball of feathers came hurtling down from the sky, to finally materialise a few inches in front of Peachblossom, fluttering and chirping all the way. It appeared to be trying to say something, flying around in circles, and occasionally puffing up its feathers. Kel looked on, bewildered, as she tried to play the strange form of charades. 

"A…pufferfish? …no…a bear?…no…" 

"Fog?" Radanae sounded alert. "What's so alarming about…._fog_." 

It wasn't fog so much as a thick duvet of white winding its way around the hill, enveloping everything in its path, as it spread its languorous folds as far as the eye could reach. 

One of the guards wrinkled her brow. "My, this is very unusual," she muttered to nobody in particular. "Milady,_ another_ exercise?" this was directed at Radanae, who was looking at the swiftly approaching swirls with an expression very close to complete shock. 

The others looked at her. 

"Whatever you may have heard of my abilities, Lieutenant Juditeline, I can assure you that they were greatly exaggerating." She said in a calm, removed voice. "I am a weather mage of no small ability by Imperial standards. I can call clouds within about a five-mile radius. I can call rain to a largish football field. I can turn rain to sleet, to hail, to snow. But I _cannot_ form fog." 

"So this is normal?" Lianne's horse had begun to dance on the spot and roll his eyes as white swirls gathered around his legs. The princess looked as though something was definitely not going to plan. 

"No. Not at all." The lieutenant said firmly. "I've gone on these rides with their majesties for over a year. This has never happened before." 

"Is it…natural?" Kel asked as though she didn't want to hear the answer, but had to know anyway. 

"That depends on what you say is natural," Radanae said humourlessly. "Almost everything is, if you're willing to go back far enough. But in answer to that, not really. It is the work of a weather mage, but not one that I'm familiar with. Look." 

The pale fog was suddenly threaded through very faintly with threads of deep ultramarine. Kel knew from her limited studies of wild magic that those abilities were normally indicated by hues of copper. She raised an eyebrow as Radanae opened her eyes, and the threads faded. 

"So it's not you?" Juditeline's anxiety was easily audible. She seemed to be almost pleading that the knight had something to do with it. 

"No. Even were this one of my _accidents_, they would be my colours – amber and green." the other Imperial said heavily with some finality. "But whoever it is, one, they're a weather-mage. Two, they're a lot better than I am, and three, well, I have no idea who they are." 

The sounds of galloping horses were clearly audible, even before the two guards who had been riding at the front all but careered into them. They looked around the group. The group looked at them, the same conclusion lying heavily on the ground (wherever it was under the cover of white) between them. 

It was up to Lieutenant Juditeline, strong woman, to ask the obvious. "Where are the King and Queen?" 

Unfortunately, nobody seemed to know the answer.   



	10. A Different Kind of Magic/That Conversat...

  
**A Different Kind of Magic/That Conversation**

Everglade stood still as the tendrils of opaque white mist swirled around his hocks and then crept up his legs at a most alarming rate. The bay gelding laid his ears back momentarily, then settled for briefly snapping at the fog. Yevgen patted the destrier's neck in a reassuring manner, though the King looked far from comfortable. 

Kally did not have the very handy ability to hold philosophical discussions with her horse, so her elegant sorrel mare was alternately pawing the air and rolling her eyes. Even though Kalasin was a talented equestrienne, she had difficulty keeping her seat as Ikaria cavorted and danced nervously as the white mist continued to surround them, obscuring their view. 

Within moments, the King and Queen could barely see each other, though they were only a few feet apart. 

"What is this?" Kally asked, when she had finally managed to calm Ikaria. Yevgen and Everglade seemed pensive, her husband waving his hand through the fog as though he could hold it. "The fog's never been this bad before." 

"No, it hasn't," he said grimly. For a second, she thought that she imagined the mist take on a slight blue tint, but it was gone in less than half a blink. Yevgen turned to her – even though she only knew this by the shifting of shapes, "I never thought to ask this, but can you see weather-witchery?" he asked, his voice matter-of-fact. 

"I don't think so…what is it?" 

"This may not be the best time, but it's a sort of Talent – wild magic, if you like – that allows the possessor to be able to slightly manipulate weather patterns. But I can't think of anyone who is powerful to do this. Oh…" here Yevgen blurted a string of rather nasty swear words as he gazed up at the approximate direction of the sky, which, too was obscured by the fog. It did not seem to be noxious or harmful, but it did create a complete screen around them. Kally was about to ask him what had prompted such a reaction, then she felt a single, fat droplet of rain fall on her face, followed by another, and another, until they were in the midst of a torrent, yet the mist did not lift. 

"Oh, bother this," Yevgen exploded. 'Bother' wasn't the precise word that he used, but it conveyed the same sentiments. "Kally, I hate to ask this, but would you prefer to be able to see where we're going, or to stay dry?" 

Kally, who was, despite her occasional romantic fantasies, a very practical woman, sensibly elected for the former. Much to her surprise, then, the fog in their immediate area began to fade, until they could see perhaps five or six feet in front of them. Yevgen appeared to be concentrating very hard on something. Kally could not sense anything in particular, but that wasn't much of an indicator, the magical heritages East and West of the Roof being so different. At any rate, his teeth were clenched, and there were thin rivets of sweat pouring down his brow as he urged Everglade forward, Ikaria following her stablemate. 

"Wait!" Kally called, as she followed him off the path, to plunge down the side of the embankment, "What about the others?" 

Everglade wheeled around sharply on his haunches, causing Ikaria to crash into him. He danced a little, complaining. 

Yevgen looked up at the fog-shrouded hill that they had just come down from. There was still mist around them, but it was not so thick, so they were able to see perhaps ten feet around them. "Radanae or your uncle will know what to do," he said, as they heard the panicked, galloping hoofbeats that signalled their advance guard returning to the main party. He turned Everglade away and nudged the gelding further into the woods. 

"Shouldn't we return?" Kally asked as Ikaria ignored her efforts and followed the other horse. If she hadn't known her husband reasonably well, Kally might have suspected that he had been having a chat with the horse. 

He paused, and twisted in the saddle to meet her eyes. With the rain increasing to a downpour, he was absolutely drenched, but gave no indication that it particularly bothered him. 

"Can you find your way back in this fog?" he asked levelly. "Kally, as unlikely as it may seem, if this is an assassination attempt, it would be better for the others if we're not with them." 

"Where are we going?" she asked as the horses started off again. It seemed a given that Ikaria would follow her stablemate, even if Kally was less enthused about the idea. 

"…Hunting lodge…" Yevgen shouted above the pelt of the rain. He was still absorbed in clearing the immediate area of fog, so they managed to weave between the trees and avoid fallen logs. 

Eventually they came to a small clearing, one that was so well hidden from the usual riding paths that she had never even imagined that it was there. In the middle of the clearing, there was a low cottage, with an attached stable. Shivering (for, by this time, they were both drenched), they led the horses into the stable, stripped them of tack, wiped them down and filled water buckets and haynets before collapsing through the door.   
  


A few miles away, another door was pushed open with a great deal more force. Radanae threw her soaked overtunic and cloak on the floor before heading towards her dressing table for what appeared to be a box of face powder. 

Only it was blue and green. 

Taking a handful of the powder, she threw it into the charcoal brazier, as she found a towel to try her hair, muttering swear words all the way. It had taken all her persuasive powers to convince the guards and the Tortallans to return to the Palace, that nothing would be served by charging after the King and Queen, for it was fairly obvious where they had most likely gone. The fog had soon concentrated to one side of the hill where they had been riding, and neither Yevgen nor Kally were in sight. 

That, however, did not stop her from fuming. What she had said on the path was true, that the fog was the work of a powerful weather-mage, and not one she recognised. That didn't mean that she didn't have a keen suspicion who was ultimately behind it. Her suspicion was confirmed when it was soon apparent that there was no sinister motive behind the mist. 

"Kay! Justinia!" she exploded as soon as the smoke from the brazier resolved itself into an indistinct scene. It appeared to be a combination dance party and beer appreciation festival, being held in the princess's private hunting lodge in one of the northern mountain provinces– a building several times larger than even a prosperous merchant's house. "What on earth did you think you were about just then?" 

"You said that you had no idea how to get them to talk about anything other than Sarain," Kay said reasonably, taking a large gulp from the mug in her hand. 

"I didn't mean for you to get us all lost in fog and then drown us!" Radanae did not lose her temper easily, but when she did, it was not a sight anyone wished to behold. She empathetically threw her wet towel on the floor as punctuation. 

"Oops. Sorry." The barest hint of a blush could be seen under Justinia's deep tan, but it was swiftly gone. Radanae rather thought that it was more likely due to embarrassment that her plan had an unanticipated side effect than any discomfort suffered by an old friend. 

"Who was it?" she asked through clenched teeth. 

The other two women exchanged a glance. "It's a bit of a new technique, we had a weather-mage and an earth-mage working together – earth to find your party, understand. Quite revolutionary. I mean, we had no idea that it was going to work…" Kay trailed off. 

"I doubt you know them. Elera Fergandi and Gordon Belaron," Justinia named members of two very minor families. 

Radanae didn't, in fact, know them, but she wasn't going to concede that little fact. Instead, she changed the subject. 

"That's all well and good, but have you any idea were Yevgen and Kally have gone? In case you've forgotten, we do have the Tortallan delegation here – you have no idea how difficult it was to get them to turn back – and wait out the rain. Which is bucketing down, thank you very much for asking." 

"I…hadn't thought of that." Kay seemed a little shamefaced. "I thought they were due next week…" 

"So did I, but apparently, Yevgen decided he wanted to make it some big surprise for Kally, so kept the whole thing quiet. Now. Where are they?" Her voice was low and menacing, but the dramatic affect was rather ruined by the fact that she looked rather like a soaking wet bird of prey. 

Very reluctant looks were exchanged. "Before we went to Tortall, Silas, a few of the other officers and me chipped in and had a little place built as a joke….it's at…."   
  
  


"We have to go back." Kally said firmly as soon as she got her breath back. The inside of the little cottage was plain, as were the furnishings, which had an air of disuse. 

Yevgen raised an eyebrow at her from his point near the uncooperative fire. "I had assumed that particular eventuality would arise." He said, giving up and pointing at the kindling until it exploded into flames, the glowing blue fading into more natural orange. 

"No, I meant now!" 

"In this rain? Kally, I doubt very much that half an hour or so will make much difference back at the Palace – whereas it will make a great deal of difference to us and the horses. Not to mention that it'll be quicker to get back when it's not pouring down." Seemingly satisfied with the fire, he stood and discarded his shirt. Kally allowed herself only a few heartbeats to admire the elegant definition of his muscles as he neatly hung the garment to dry on a rack apparently designed for that purpose, before bringing up her end of the argument again. 

"Won't they be worried?" 

He cocked his head to one side. "I can't say much for the delegation, but I have a feeling that Radanae and the guards, once the weather clears up, will be more vexed that anything else." 

"Vexed? Vexed? Didn't you say that it could be an assassination attempt? I should think that they're more than vexed." Kally was well aware that her voice was spiralling a trifle higher than was strictly suitable for her range, but she didn't care. 

"It could," he conceded, "but it's not." 

"Oh? And how would you know that?" 

"Largely because neither of us is dead yet." He said this with the absolute calmness of someone who has been facing assassination attempts since before he was born. 

Kally was speechless for a second, so Yevgen felt it necessary to explain. "It would be a simple thing for anyone who is capable of conjuring a fog so dense to have an accomplice introduce a poison. Failing that, it would not have been difficult to install an archer or two above the fog." 

"Poisons?" 

An easy shrug. "Oh yes, and quite easy to make, though it's considered Extremely Ill-Mannered (Yevgen was a man who could make full use of Capital Letters), as my sisters would put it. It's regarded as quite a crude form of warfare. No, far more likely that it's a newly-discovered Talent on a training accident, or somebody's idea of a joke." 

"You take it all very well." 

"Not the first time – though I must admit, that it's never been a weather-mage this powerful, or one who struck at such an inconvenient time." 

Silence only broken by the crackling fire. 

"It's a very nice place," Kally hesitated, not knowing what else to say. 

"This? Oh, another joke, courtesy of Silas, Kay, and a few of my friends who were here two years ago. It's a bit of a tradition – quite obscure now – that one's friends present one with a Retreat on the occasion of one's wedding. An escape, if one likes. Largely in disuse because hardly anyone actually gets married these days…" he trailed off. 

Kally could see the humour in it, "So a sort of hideaway – like a treehouse – away from one's undesirable spouse?" it was said in a teasing tone, but she was shocked to see him flush slightly. 

"Well…yes…in a way. Traditionally, it's been a hunting lodge – like this one – but at other times, depending on the person – oh, I don't know – a library in an obscure wing, a town apartment, a little shack on the seaside – it varies." 

She couldn't quite resist teasing him. "Do you come here often?" 

"No. No time. Oh, I didn't meant it like that, I mean – well, we've had so much to do…" it was one of the very few times that Kally had ever known him to stumble verbally and looked at him with interest, before moving closer to the fire so that her clothes would dry quicker. 

"You wouldn't happen to have a hairbrush or anything here, would you?" she asked, seeing the sorry mess of her hair. It was a vanity to keep her hair long, she knew, but it was one thing which made it easier to put on her 'Queen' persona. It was much easier to feel regal in an uncomfortable hairstyle that had taken the better part of an hour than one that needed the barest attention from a brush. 

He didn't, though, but found a beautiful carved ivory comb that he confessed was from a very elderly aunt who thought he was a third princess – and could not be convinced otherwise, no matter how many times she saw him. It did the job – and very well indeed. 

"You've got lovely hair," the soft comment was barely audible, and Kally wondered if he had even meant to say it aloud. 

"What?" she turned to look at him. It was probably the first time that he had directly said anything about her appearance to her. 

He blushed. "Sorry. That wasn't meant to come out. I mean it though." 

"No, it's quite all right, I'm just surprised. You've never said anything like that before." 

He looked at her quizzically. "I'm sure I ha…" 

"No, you haven't." 

"Well," he fidgeted a bit, "considering the circumstances, it didn't seem very appropriate." 

"Circumstances?" she gave up on a hopelessly tangled knot and came to sit next to him on the large, overstuffed sofa that dominated the room. 

"Well, the circumstances in which we met," he explained awkwardly. "I mean, everything was arranged long before I came to Tortall – and that sort of thing seemed rather redundant considering the stage things had got to by then – the contracts were all signed, sealed and delivered. Flowers and bad poetry would have been a bit out of place." 

Kally didn't quite know what to say about that. She thought about mentioning that she would have appreciated even a limerick, but that would have been seriously inappropriate considering the – she winced inwardly – professional way he had gone about the last two years. 

The rain continued to fall. 

"I never really cared for the poetry," Kally said into the silence. "I mean, back in Corus – and then at King's Reach – the boys would send them just because it was the done thing to send bad poetry to the princess. Some of it was really terrible." 

"I can imagine," he ducked his head to hide a small smile. 

"With your taste?" she snorted (from what she saw of his reading-desk, it was full of extremely archaic and important-looking tomes), "I doubt it. Let's see. My favourite 'Roses are red, your eyes are blue, you're the most beautiful thing on this earth, and I really like you." She giggled. "Garvey of Runnerspring, six years ago. Particularly obnoxious little cretin." 

"Runnerspring?" 

"The one you nearly killed." 

"Ah, that one. I must confess that my literary pretensions aren't quite so sophisticated as that." 

"You really do have quite a nice collection of books," Kally foundered for something to say. 

"Thank you." 

More silence. Kally took a deep breath and then said something that had been on her mind for a while, even before her uncle brought it up a dinner. 

"Yevgen?" 

"Humm?" 

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want – it's a bit personal…" 

"Kally, in case you've forgotten, we happen to be married. I don't think it gets much more personal that this." 

"You know what Uncle Gareth said last night … and what the Council have been going on about for the last few months…." 

"Oh yes, Securing The Succession, oh that. What about it?" 

"Yevgen, it's been nearly two years…Yevgen, I think there might be something wrong with me…I haven't quite had the courage to go to the Healer and tell her…" 

"Horse Lords, Kally, have you been worried about that?" he sat up suddenly and clasped her gently around the forearms. "Kally," he said firmly putting an equally light finger under her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Look, Kally, oh gods…ummm…I really should have told you earlier…if you were only sleeping with me for an heir…" 

"Oh no, no, it's not that," then, realising what she said, immediately turned bright scarlet, but ploughed on gamely seeing the quickly shuttered hurt in his eyes, "It's not that – I meant yes, I mean that part of it's very nice…but considering how often we…ah…do it…I mean, should it have happened by now." 

He took pity of her and went away to get her a drink. There was evidently plumbing, for he came back with a earthenware mug of cold water. She gulped it down, perhaps obscuring her embarrassed visage from his keen gaze a trifle longer than strictly necessary. 

"Kally. Ah. I don't quite know where to begin…Firstly, if the problem is…ah…physiological…it's probably me. My family is not known for its fertility – quite the opposite, in fact – and secondly – ah, I guess you may have gathered that the Imperial attitude to 'sowing one's oats' is a trifle different from the Tortallan?" 

Kally nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

"Well, obviously, considering that there are certain inconvenient side effects of 'sowing one's oats', so to speak, certain precautions are taken." He wasn't meeting her eyes. "It generally takes a little while to wear off once one stops taking it. A sort of herbal tea." He added. 

"Oh." Kally let her relief come out. "Well…yes…umm…well…I thought that you would have been disappointed that I wasn't pregnant yet…" 

"Why would I be disappointed?" 

She gaped at him in disbelief. "Well, if I was, then you … well, you wouldn't have to…well" 

"Kalasin, if you don't want to share a bedroom anymore, it's perfectly fine with me." His tone was level, his words were level, but there was an undercurrent that indicated that that particular scenario wasn't his ideal situation. 

"No. I mean. No." he grabbed at him. "It's…this is coming all out wrong. I mean, I know there are other people you'd far rather be sleeping with than me…" she knew as soon as the words left her mouth that it was the wrong thing. 

"Kalasin, listen." He was clearly angry, "If you don't want to sleep with me anymore (the actual words he used wouldn't fit into this rating), just say so. Don't drag my former life into it. Look, Kalasin, I am not at all disappointed that you're not pregnant. In fact, the longer that you're not, the longer I've got the most intelligent, gifted, wittiest, most beautiful woman in the known world in my bed. What sort of asinine idiot would be disappointed with that?" 

Kally was well aware that her jaw was hanging open. "But…Lara…" 

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Dama Felara Eriel and I are friends and common acquaintances," he said tightly, "whatever happened in the past is completely irrelevant now. I've kept my vows." 

"Yes! Yes you have! You're honourable and noble and polite and smart and gorgeous and good in bed and all of that, but …Gods, for nearly two years I've been here knowing that the man I'm in love with is in love with somebody else!" 

She couldn't believe she just said that. Neither could he, if the speed at which the fury in his eyes quickly turned to shock was any indication.   
  
He opened his mouth to say something, just as Kally made to apologise, refute her statement, anything, really. 

She didn't get the chance, though, as she was roughly pulled into his arms, her mouth crushed to his, as they collapsed off the sofa and onto the bearskin rug on the floor. 

The Tortallan dignitaries insisted that Radanae take them to wherever the King and Queen were as soon as the rain cleared. She could think of no brush-offs or refusals that weren't at least slightly rude, so she had the complaining Luana saddled and they rode back into the woods. She'd had to make excused quickly, saying that it was a prank, that the lodge itself was a prank from his friends. Anything, really, to make the Tortallans feel that the affair was not at all serious, even if it did have the side effect of portraying Radanae and her friends as frivolous spoiled brats with too much time, power, and money on their hands. Oh well, it couldn't really be helped. 

She was distinctly unhappy with Kay and Justinia, for all their protestations that it was taking far too long for their satisfaction. Radanae supposed that the temptation of a pair of an extremely Talented weather-mage and an earth mage in the same place, must have been impossible to resist. It would probably have been noted down as an experiment in long-range magecraft. Both were usually inhumanly patient people, but did manage to look sheepish when Radanae said that additional plans that she had cooked up with Princess Lianne and Lady Keladry would now have to be re-done. 

It was easy enough to find the clearing from Kay's directions. As the first to dismount, Radanae naturally was the first to the door. There was no answer to her soft knock, so she opened the door. And shut it just as quickly, heading back to the others at a very brisk walk. 

"As I might have intimated earlier, I don't think their Majesties would appreciate company at just this present moment. Why do we not return to the Palace to await them?"   



	11. More Exposition/Tidings

More Exposition/Tidings

Kally raised her head slightly at the sound of the door, but it appeared to be undisturbed. Curious, she pushed herself up from her position half-sprawled across Yevgen, her hand slipping slightly across his sweat soaked pectoral. She could feel his heartbeat still racing underneath her fingertips as he propped himself up on his elbows. 

"What was that?" he asked, looking at the door. His eyes went blank for the merest fraction of a second. "Ah. Found out." 

Kally looked at him quizzically as she searched for her clothes, which had been scattered over quite a remarkable distance. 

"Our guests, it appears, are rather anxious about the whereabouts of their hosts. Well, we mustn't disappoint them." He stretched rather stiffly and then proceeded to pull on his dry, but wrinkled clothing. 

"Yevgen…" Kally began hesitantly as she fumbled with the lacings of her shirt. "What I said…before…I…well…umm…" 

"Yes?" he said, sounding unnervingly interested. He had that equally intimidating ability to look perfectly composed even when slightly rumpled. 

"Before…well…you don't have to take it seriously, I mean, you have so much more on your mind…" 

"Kally, you're not going to say you burst out an untruth when you were shouting before. You have never been able to lie when you're flustered." 

"I'm not. I do…oh, I don't know how to say this…I do like you very much – more than I ought to…and I know you don't feel the same way about me, so you don't have to feel all gentlemanly about it." 

"Gentlemanly?" he raised an eyebrow. "That must be the first time anyone's ever called me that to my face." Then he sobered. "If you think that…oh Kally, I thought we were friends – even of a rather odd sort." 

"Oh we are – at least, I think we are. I just…oh forget it." The humiliating red was threatening to overwhelm her complexion again. She wondered if she could ever get back to her normal shade around him. 

"Umm. Kally, all things considered, I had though we were more than friends." He took her unresisting hand and drew her back onto the sofa, settling down until she was resting on his chest. 

Had Kalasin not been so distracted, she might have noticed that he was a tightly strung as she, and the only thing that prevented him from showing it was his observation that he had never seen her quite so flustered. Not that her outburst had him completely at ease. Yevgen had thought that that things on that particular front was rather good. Relations were cordial, everything was in decent working nick – and – he winced at the term – they 'got along' rather better than he had ever managed with either Lara or Selera. 

Things got so messy once emotions got involved – he knew better than most. While he could not entirely deny that he wasn't greatly flattered by her unexpected declaration, it was, nevertheless, a source of some disquiet in the Saren King. 

"…if it had just been you?" Kalasin's voice penetrated muzzily through the fog that was his confused thoughts. 

"Pardon?" 

"I said, if it had just been you in the fog this morning, what would you have done. Would you have turned and run like we did today?" 

He should have said some polite half-truth, but he could not. When they had married, he had promised to tell the truth – largely because then, that was one of the few very personal things he could offer her. Not crowns, neither the jewels nor the power – those she had, and those he shrewdly guessed held no particular appeal to her aside from the obvious. 

Later, of course, he'd given her far more, but he wasn't about to admit that – much less tell her. 

"Stayed, I think. Made a complete idiot of myself, of course, though." 

She sat up, pulling out of the oh-so-casual embrace. "Oh? And you think that I couldn't take care of myself?" 

"Of course not. I have seen you on the practice field, you know. I don't need to tell you that you're good – you already know it – not to mention that you are a better mage than I am. What is important, of course, was that we were both out there this morning, and the way things still are in Sarain you are very much indispensable." He said this in tones that did not dare opposition. 

"Indispensable? Me? What about you?" 

"What about me?" he snorted, "Kally, you are the granddaughter of the last real Warlord and a woman of one of the greatest K'mir clans. Sarain has stayed united for as long as it has because you are its Queen. I daresay nearly everyone doesn't give a limp rat's posterior about me. I am a colourless figure with a loaned army and neat hair. It doesn't really much matter who I am. Even if I wasn't Rislyn's brother, do you think it would make much of a difference to anyone? I am a seat-filler, that's all." 

"What are you talking about? We've worked together all this time – and the Council looks to you, not me." 

"Force of habit," he explained. "Their upbringing, for the most part, dictates a certain preference for the male. But you will notice that the K'mir look to you, and nobody tends to give approval unless it's obvious that you do too." 

"But…but…" 

"Kally, can you honestly say that things would have been different had it not been me sent here and to Tortall two years ago? The Empress could very well have sent literally anyone, and nobody would ever be the wiser." 

At this extraordinary declaration, Kally could think of nothing to say but the truth. "I certainly wouldn't be in a hunting lodge with a rash from bear-fur all over me with anyone else!" 

"I'm flattered that you think so, dear," he said in a light tone, as though he thought she was just being polite, going to the pegs near the door and taking down their now-dry cloaks, and holding hers out. "But I do think it's time we headed back, don't you?"   
  


When the King and Queen finally made their way back to the Palace, the first person who greeted them was the Imperial Ambassador, who was sitting at a small ornamental table and sipping a cup of tea. It was such a deliberately casual, studied pose that Yevgen almost forgot to ponder just how she had managed to get the table and chair down from the balcony on the third floor where they usually resided. 

"Good day," Radanae said, putting her tea-cup down. "I believe that the Tortallan delegation is currently touring the gardens under the expert guide of Sir Pietr Akaryon." 

Small smiles at that, for while Akaryon was somewhat of a self-made expert on botany, and occasionally had something interesting to say, it was his ability to keep an audience through sheer persistence that made him so useful. 

"I would ask you to stay for a cup of tea, but I'm afraid that this particular blend would result in more uncomfortable questions in Council for both of you, and possibly rather embarrassing side effects for you, Yevgen." 

He raised an eyebrow. "Last I heard, you were complaining about the quality out here." 

"Wishful thinking – the curse of the optimist," she answered easily, "besides, it's force of habit. I believe that they're in the South Rose Garden. By the way, did you know that you've got bear fur in your hair?"   
  


They tried to buy a little more time by meandering up the back staircases and obscure passages to their room to get changed. Unfortunately, the Palace had been meticulously planned by a competent, though rather unimaginative architect, and there had been as yet no need for illogical extensions, so there was a surprising lack of the aforementioned passages and staircases. 

"What do we tell them?" Kally asked, hastily pulling a dress over her head, buttoning it up, and running a brush through her hair. The impossible knot came out easily, oddly enough. 

Yevgen paused in his own ministrations to come over and re-do her buttons properly. "Do we need to tell them anything?" he asked quizzically. "Kally, not to be an absolute snob, we are technically King and Queen, and the last time I checked my etiquette textbook, we technically outrank everybody here, and we don't really need to explain anything to anyone." 

"Easy to say, harder to remember," she muttered as she turned to face the mirror to pin up her hair. Her hands were shaking, much to her disgust, so Yevgen silently took the pins away from her and neatly clipped her hair up. 

"I have no idea why I'm like this," she said weakly, "I'm not…flighty…or anything…it's just…oh…" 

"Is it your first encounter with weather magic?" Yevgen asked neutrally, putting his arms around her as she shook. "You've an exceptionally strong Gift. Maybe that's what's interfering with it?" 

"Yes, yes, that must be it," Kally pulled away, wiping away some stray tears. She had very good control of her Gift, so her pride, at least, doubted it. However, she was glad that he did not mention the reason that that was plaguing her mind. She had blurted out her feelings for him, admittedly in a somewhat garbled manner, but blurt them out she had. No matter what she said now, that revelation could never be taken back. While he seemed comfortable with her statement, still friendly, affectionate, and – when the occasion demanded it – passionate, there was no hint that he returned her depth of feelings. He was too polite to ever say it out loud, but Kalasin knew that she would forever be trapped in a marriage where she felt far more for her husband than he ever would for her. 

She had known that was the case for over a year. What was worse now, was that he knew it too.   


They walked quietly down to the gardens, speaking of inconsequential things, like seating arrangements for the reception that would introduce the Tortallans to prominent members of the Saren court and the modest complement of ranking Imperials, and changing the paintings on the second gallery. At length, though, they reached the Gardens, planted by various different teams, so that while each was magnificent, they did not quite manage to flow into one another. 

Sir Pietr was still rambling on about the beauty of the new rose that he had developed in his spare time. Its silken-soft petals were ivory near the centre, gradually deepening in colour to a dark red around the edges. The leaves and stem were of the deepest, richest green, with an impressive collection of razor-sharp thorns. 

It was, of course, named 'Queen Kalasin.' Kally chose to see it as a complement. 

"Ah, your Majesty," Duke Gareth was formal in the presence of the Imperial knight, and bowed slightly to his great niece. "How wonderful of you to join us," he said with perfect equanimity, as though she had not just vanished from the middle of a mountain path. Kally wondered just how much they had 'found out' about the few hours that she had spent away. 

"Is Yevgen not joining us?" Lianne asked. Dressed, and immaculately turned out, her regal effect was rather ruined by her wet hair. 

"Yevgen? He's right…" Kally turned to her side, to discover that somewhere between the garden gate and the garden itself, he had disappeared.   
  


"A prank." Yevgen repeated, looking not at all amused. 

"Well, it was an experiment with weather and earth-magery," the diplomatic training kicked in even as Radanae raised the mug of tea to her lips. Behind them there were the muffled sounds as two unfortunate footmen moved the delicate furniture back to its proper place, now that her point had been made. 

"Right. A prank that might have got any of us killed! No one could see anything in that fog! I could barely thin it for more than four feet, and I flatter myself to say that I'm not entirely without Talent in that area! Didn't it occur to them that we might have guests? – that Duke Gareth has a weak heart! Fire – Goddess, I don't believe they were that reckless!" Somehow he managed to convey the exclamation marks without raising his voice. Radanae made a mental note to ask him how he did it (she couldn't – the closest she could manage was 'greatly vexed'), once he'd calmed down a little. 

"I don't believe that anyone except perhaps your honourable self had any inkling that the Tortallans would arrive earlier than planned," she said dryly. "Besides, you knew that it would have had to be a prank or accident from the East within a few seconds." 

"Yes, yes I did," he acknowledged, still irritated. "But that's not the point. That was a lot of unnecessary confusion out there today." 

"On the contrary, I think something very important was cleared up this morning." Radanae took another drink. "Something that both of you have had hanging over you for a very long time." 

His jaw dropped open. 

Radanae snorted, her way of choking back the very undignified giggles that threatened to burst out at his expression. 

"I may have chosen to sit out the game, laddie, but that doesn't mean I don't know the rules." She took advantage of her two-months advantage in age, as she always did, to emphasise some purported superiority. "Besides," her voice took on an edge of practicality, "it's bloody obvious to anyone with eyes that you're soppy over each other. Frankly, if one of you at least wasn't going to confess it, I was going to point it out. It's making me nauseous." 

He sagged against the wall. "We..were…I don't know quite what we were talking about, really. She suddenly burst out that she's in love with me…and, well, you can guess what happened next." 

"Pretty much," she agreed. "Now, so what are you going to do about it?" 

"Do about it?" 

"Well, you can't just go on as though nothing happened. The poor woman's probably feeling awkward enough as it is without you making it look as though you're ignoring it because you're too polite to say that you don't like her. I mean, you are fond of her, aren't you?" 

"Of course," he answered automatically, "more than fond of her, to be honest," he confessed. "And I said as much." 

"Did you?" 

"Well," he shuffled uneasily, some section of his mind pointing out that it was rather silly to feel so sheepish near someone he had known all his life, and outranked to boot, "I did say that anyone who would be disappointed that she wasn't pregnant so that he wouldn't have to sleep with her anymore was an idiot." 

Radanae rolled her eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "But you haven't actually told her that you like her in so many words, have you?" 

"Well…not exactly…" to Radanae, it was as though they were back at the Academy, when she was the go-between for more relationships than she'd ever managed to have herself. She gave the King a stern look. 

"It's not something that comes up in everyday conversation. Come on, it was the last thing I expected after getting stuck in magic fog, half-drowned in a rainstorm, and stumbling into a shack that took twelve hours to put up!" 

"True," Radanae conceded, before her attention was taking by a figure in Saren colours, running full pelt towards them. "What is it?" she turned to face a red-faced messenger. 

"Your Majesty, your ladyship," the messenger was clearly nervous at facing two such important persons, for all that he was only about five years younger than them. "A message…just arrived from the border…it's from King Barnesh…about wanting to open trade talks…" 

Yevgen nodded and dismissed the boy with a tip, then unfolded the message. Wordlessly, he handed it to Radanae after he had skimmed, knowing that she was going to see it sooner or later, and that he might as well cut out the middleman. 

Their eyes met. 

"I'd better tell Kalasin about this," Yevgen said quietly, holding out his hand for the sheet of parchment before heading out to the garden. He was checked by a light touch on his arm. 

"Yevgen, I know very well that Maren will be the primary subject of your pillow talk tonight, but do put in a word about this morning as well." There was genuine concern in her eyes, between two old friends, rather than her customary professional reserve, "I know I give a lot of advice – most of it pretty bad, I have to admit – but this time, you've got the perfect opportunity to get it all out in the open. Trust me, the longer this goes on, the more awkward it will get." 

He made a non-committal sound, but then gave a grudging nod before stepping out into the garden.   


  


PREVIOUS NEXT 


	12. Advice

Advice from many quarters (and on nearly as many subjects)

One formal reception is very much like another. One dresses in clothes one normally wouldn't be caught dead in, makes inane conversation with people one despises, and eats food that has probably been waiting in the kitchen since eleven o'clock in the morning. 

Of course, the organiser – I mean the real organiser, not the eerily toothy person wearing big sparkling rocks standing near the door - isn't there for you to whinge to. They're usually so exhausted by the numerous little tasks and emergencies that inevitably arise when organising food, drink and entertainment for a few hundred difficult guests that they're off having a nice, quiet nervous breakdown in a corner somewhere.   


Unfortunately, Yevgen Felix Delmaran, Imperial Knight, King of Sarain, did not have that luxury. While various members of what passed as the Saren elite mingled with Imperial officers, Tortallan visitors and token K'mir and Doi representatives, at once united in their appreciation of the catering and criticism of the dancers and musicians, he was closeted away in his study with his wife the Queen, discussing the correspondence from Maren. 

"Right." Kally crossed her arms where she sat on his study chair. "So, after months of fortifying his borders to the point of obsession, Barnesh decides that now he wants to talk?" 

"That's about right," Yevgen was sitting on the desk proper, for once not really caring that his formal clothes were getting creased. He had discovered in the last few weeks that organising parties was far more difficult that it looked, particularly since he was trying to keep it out of the gossip chain. 

The room was simply furnished, and looked rather like Kally's save the furniture and floorboards was of dark oak and mahogany rather than beech, and the walls were painted a restful grey-green. There was no hint of either red or purple anywhere, oddly enough. Between them, a sort of antithesis of the sophisticated food outside, a plate of toasted sandwiches, and fruit juice in a plain pitcher. 

"Could it be a ploy?" Kally asked around a mouthful of ham-cheese-mushroom-on-rye. 

"Always a possibility," Yevgen acknowledged, hunting around on the plate for something without coriander (he hated it), "though, with Barnesh one can never really tell. Slippery character," he remarked absently, not mentioning that he wasn't exactly the most guileless of people either, despite his good looks. "Though, he doesn't seem to have any high-level agents here, though there might be a few of the Maren merchants reporting back." He smiled, but whether it was because of an observation or because he found some smoked salmon and spring onion on wholegrain, one couldn't really tell. 

"I suppose we must receive his delegation," Kally said reluctantly, brushing crumbs off her skirt, "though just between you and me, I'm getting sick of all this entertaining. I liked it much better when it was just us…" it took her a fraction of a second to realise what she had just said, and the now-familiar heat began to rise again. 

"So did I," he agreed. 

There was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. 

"Ummm…well…" Yevgen began, "Shall we send out messengers to Maren, directly, then?" 

"Yes, I think we should…in fact…" whatever Kally thought was temporarily interrupted by a calm, but insistent knocking on the door. Kally and Yevgen exchanged glances, for they had left instructions that they were _not to be found_ with the Palace staff, and even though the Saren members were largely shocked (the Imperials thought it a great laugh), those instructions were obeyed. Never mind that when such directives were issued the King and Queen were far more likely to be discussing trade tariffs or the minutes of the last Council meeting than whatever their rather grubby-minded staff had in mind (though admittedly, sometimes they were right). 

The knocking continued. Yevgen sighed and pushed himself off the desk and went to open the door. Only years of training prevented him from giving a little start of surprise as he greeted Duke Gareth and Lady Alanna. 

Kally stood up reflexively as they entered, though in the back of her mind she knew that she no longer had to do any such thing even in the most formal of situations. "Uncle Gareth. Alanna. What a surprise…" she said, for lack of anything else. 

"Not more of a than surprise to find you in here," Alanna remarked dryly, picking at a bit of invisible lint on her deep purple tunic. Kally noted with some amusement that Yevgen couldn't quite refrain from giving Alanna doubtful looks about her choice of colour. Kally supposed that twenty-odd years of wearing colour combinations that didn't really suit you would bias anyone towards those hues. 

"We missed you two out there," Gareth said mildly. It was a pathetic excuse. Like his favourite protégé, Gareth of Naxen did not care for social functions very much. 

"Well, yes, we were just about to come out, weren't we, Majesty," Kally held one hand out to her husband while quickly hiding the missive sent from Maren in his desk drawer. Yevgen gave a barely perceptible nod as he raised her fingers lightly to his lips and took her arm in his, clearly indicating to Gareth and Alanna that they should proceed the royals out the door. 

Duke Gareth and Lady Alanna, who had escaped from the party on the first excuse they could find, were distinctly amused at finding themselves back out in the corridor, and heading back in the direction of annoying background music and spiced canapés. Gareth had not had a chance to speak at length with his – he calculated the precise relationship in his head – great-nephew-in-law, and was anxious to further the acquaintance of the King of Sarain, both on a diplomatic, and a personal perspective. With the ease of long, tedious experience of functions, he gradually drew the younger man away from the Queen as soon as they re-entered the main reception hall, coincidentally, as others pulled Kally in the opposite direction. 

"I hear that you have successfully dealt with the problems with the Gallan irregulars?" Duke Gareth began on a diplomatically neutral subject. 

Yevgen had not missed the ploy by the Tortallan Duke to have a private conversation, but there was only a slight twitch of his posture to indicate that as he replied, "There will always be bandit problems in the wintertime. We hope that improved harvest management and storage will eliminate much of the hardship in the north-west, but there will always be those who prefer to steal the labour of others rather than work for themselves." 

They paused for a second, during which Yevgen lifted two long-stem glasses from a passing tray and offered one to the Duke. 

"The Eastern Lands are amazed at the progress that has been made in Sarain in the last two years," Gareth nodded his approval of the sparkling rose wine. 

"It is, of course, largely due to her Majesty," 

Duke Gareth could have taken it as empty diplomatic praise given to the Queen's relatives, but there was a touch of…something that no amount of diplomatic training could cover up, that indicated that the King, at least, believed that it was true. A growing suspicion, one that Gareth had not even considered until that afternoon, began to blossom in earnest. 

"King Barnesh of Maren has, by all accounts, been quite taken aback at the speed with which Sarain has again become a member of the Eastern Lands," Gareth tried again. 

"King Barnesh has worn a crown for many years," Yevgen said smoothly, "doubtless he has seen the sad troubles that have plagued Sarain in the last decades." 

There was an edge, not quite concealed, about Barnesh around the edges of Yevgen's level, low tenor voice. Gareth thought it might be Barnesh personally, rather than Barnesh the notoriously wily Maren king. "Yes, I imagine he has taken a keen interest," Gareth kept his voice deliberately light and conversational, then dropped his tone to appear conspiratal and secretive. "Though, I must say as one of Kalasin's relations, I must find your Majesty a far better connection for her than Barnesh. I believe my nephew and his wife were briefly considering his proposal some years ago." 

Gareth was interested in the way Yevgen's fingers briefly tightened on the delicate crystal glass before being forcibly relaxed. 

"A woman of the lineage and beauty of her Majesty should naturally receive many offers of marriage," Yevgen managed, "I consider myself very fortunate." He took a rather big swallow of the wine. 

Duke Gareth now thought he had confirmed his earlier suspicions. He couldn't quite see why either seemed so hesitant and formal about it. Love was not usual among royal marriages – but it was hardly a unheard of. However, his matchmaking days were long over, and he decided that this present generation should be left alone to sort it out. If they could deal with Barnesh, he thought, they could probably get around to talking to each other. 

"A word about his Majesty of Maren," Gareth continued his conspirital tone, "he is likely to demand compensation for settling thousands of Saren over the last two decades…" 

"In the south of Maren, where there is a grand choice between swamp and wasteland, south Maren, where they have cultivated otherwise useless lands for him, paid his taxes, fattened his coffers, and starved by the thousands." Yevgen had been doing his research. Gareth was impressed. Even if he was somewhat exaggerating the poor condition of that particular part of Maren, nonetheless, many of the new settlers had died of starvation after the majority of their meagre harvests were taken as taxes. He smiled his approval at the younger man, and then could not resist one more titbit, "oh, and should you ever invite King Barnesh to your wonderful home – and I have to say, none of his palaces can even remotely compare – you might need to warn your servants and those of your female knights unfamiliar with Eastern oddities. Barnesh has roving eyes and hands." 

Just at that moment, a K'mir clan leader came to persuade Yevgen away with talk of ponies for his postal service, and the King allowed himself to be taken away. Gareth watched with amusement the slight tension in the King's shoulders after his last statements, and was suppressing a grin as Baron George of Pirate's Swoop walked up quietly behind him. "And just what were you doin' to the poor boy, your Grace?" he asked, having heard much of the conversation. "You weren't telling him that about Barnesh Sticky-Hands for diplomatic reasons." 

"No, I wasn't." Gareth admitted. "Not really."   


Meanwhile, Kally was engaged in conversation with Alanna, Lianne, Buri, and a few of the K'mir who knew Buri slightly. Kel was off talking swords and horses with a bunch of Imperial knights over a pitcher of Riesling and a plate of chocolate over in a corner somewhere. Gradually, the K'mir drifted away, leaving Kally with the Tortallans. 

"I never would have imagined that so much could be done so quickly, Kally," Buri told her. "Look, K'mir and lowlander, mingling at a party and talking about their children, and the only knives in sight are with the catering staff. You're done in two years what Warlords haven't been able to do in two centuries." 

Kally tried to stop herself from blushing under the rare praise from her mother's second, but failed miserably. 

"I hear that King Barnesh is making a nuisance of himself on your border," Alanna said after a few minutes silence. 

"He has recently proposed a round of trade talks," Kally didn't answer the question. 

Lianne raised her eyebrows. "Old Sticky-Hands? Ewwww…if you must invite him here, get all your staff to carry big sticks. Trust me, it saves a lot of bother." She shuddered. "He's so….urgh." 

Kally had the sneaking suspicion that her parents had reluctantly put Barnesh on Lianne's unpromising shortlist of future husbands. It was not a pleasant thought.   
  


The sight of Yevgen walking rapidly out into the chilly evening caught Radanae's attention, just out of the corner of her eye. Frowning slightly, she disengaged from her conversation partner, a Tortallan knight who spent most of the time staring at her. Her mantle was lambswool rather than the usual silk, a concession to the cold, and her long undertunic had long sleeves, but she still felt the wind as she watched her friend pace outside the reception room. 

"Is something bothering you?" she asked quietly. 

"No…I mean…yes…I mean…not really," Yevgen sounded really confused. Radanae softly closed the glass door behind them, to ensure that no prying ears could hear. "I was just something that Duke Gareth said…about Barnesh…he said…he said that Barnesh had once been considered as Kalasin's husband…I mean, of course, she must have had lots of proposals…" 

Radanae raised eyebrows, but then decided that she had to dance around this issue very carefully. "Well…" she temporised, "that's true. But I suppose there weren't all that many that Jonathan and Thayet felt that they could consider for their eldest daughter. There was Emperor Kaddar, Barnesh, and whoever was King that week in Scanra. Tusaine is never really worth bothering about, there's already an alliance with the Yamani..." 

"So was that all it was…better in comparison to everyone else?" Yevgen wondered aloud to nobody in particular. 

"Excuse me?" Radanae asked, but rapidly shut her mouth as a door opened further down and both she and Yevgen instinctively drew back into the shadows. 

It was Kalasin and Lianne. Alanna looked about to follow them, but was detained by a small, but determined horde of Imperial knights who wanted to hear stories of Alanna and Buri's previous adventures in the Roof. 

"I wanted to tell you myself." Lianne looked very much subdued, far more depressed than she had been at any other time since she had arrived. Radanae wondered if her enthusiastic planning the night before had simply been a cover for this. "I didn't want the others to break it. You know how it is with Scanra and Tusaine?" it wasn't really a question, for all the slight rise in the voice. 

Kally nodded. 

"They've given me until MidWinter," Lianne continued miserably, "Guess who? Barnesh, the Crown Prince of the Copper Isles – you know, the one who's probably mad, and some Gallan with dirt under his fingernails. I wanted to come to talk to you, I mean, nobody has arranged marriages anymore, except you, but you don't count because you're nuts about Yevgen anyway." Apparently that was as much stoic princess as Lianne could manage, for the younger woman promptly burst into tears. 

Kally silently handed over a handkerchief. Lianne blew her nose in an unladylike manner. "I can't even be as dignified as you were about it," she tried to joke, and failed miserably. "Why can't I be like you?" she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You didn't even flinch when they proposed Barnesh for you the first time – and that was before that poor Gallan girl became his fourth - you were younger than me then! And then there was Kaddar who everyone thought you were going to get. He wouldn't be half so bad – Daine says he's cute. Then when he runs off with some tart, you don't even bat an eyelid, even though everyone else is much, much worse, and then look who comes for you! Prince-bloody-Perfect!" 

Kally hesitantly put her arm around her younger sister. In her own opinion, no matter what Lianne had declared, Lia had been stoic enough to keep all that frustration and emotion under tight wraps, appearing as any younger princess eager for adventure over the last day or so. It took a lot of effort. 

"He's not, you know," Kally said calmly. 

"What?" 

"Yevgen. He's not perfect. Nobody is." Kally seemed distant. 

"He comes pretty darn close," Lianne said spiritedly. "Look. The man looks like he fell off some temple fresco, or maybe a marble statue come to life. He has good manners and he can hold up half a conversation. He doesn't even try to stop you doing anything, never makes you do anything, he treats you as an equal, and, if I'm not very much mistaken, I take it he's very good in bed and you two burn up the sheets every night." 

"Lia!" Kally sounded shocked at her sister's bawdy commentary. Radanae noticed Yevgen's start at the comments too. 

"Well, isn't he?" Lia was persistent. 

Kally answered in the affirmative. Radanae shot a look at Yevgen who was positively beaming. It was annoying. It had been longer than Radanae could recall since she'd had a boyfriend, and it was becoming a bit of a concern. 

"Urgh. I don't even want to think about what _that's_ going to be like for me," Lianne continued. "With Scanra and Tusaine so unstable, we need more allies." She sighed. "Liam and Jasson aren't doing too well either. Negotiations are nearly over one of the younger Gallan princesses, and a Cathaki Duchess. They'll probably send a letter in the next few months, if one of your husband's friend's spies don't get hold of it first." She quietened again. 

"What are you going to do?" Kally asked softly. 

Lianne gave a helpless little shrug. "I'm a princess, aren't I? Born and bred to duty. You did it. I'm just not as lucky…" 

"Oh Lia…" 

"Don't feel sorry for me. I'm perfectly able to do it for myself. We can't all be as happy as you." 

"Excuse me?" 

She snorted. "What? You've got your own country, you can do whatever you like, and you've got King Gorgeous who's nuts for you – and you have the hots for, don't deny it -in your bed. That's five better than what I'll get." 

Kally was counting on her fingers. 

"Mutual affection – counts for two, and his looks get you a bonus mark," Lia explained exasperatedly. 

"You're wrong about one, then," Kally said. "I know he doesn't care for me in that way." 

Lianne stared at her incredulously. "Are you blind? He practically worships the ground you walk on. He's just too darn well-bred and polite to be as obvious as the squires back home were." 

"No, Lia. He's in love with someone else. Someone he went to school with. I've met her – two years ago – she was in the assistance force. She's beautiful." 

"So are you. And I'm not just saying that." Lianne sighed. "Kal, have you ever thought that people can fall in love lots of times. It's not as though feelings are finite or anything. It's not as though once you love something, you can't love something else. So he had a crush on a pretty girl years ago. I'm sure you've liked some of those boys back at the Palace. That doesn't meant you can't like him. And, sister dear, you more than like him, don't you?" 

"Yes…" 

"See. There you go. Has it ever occurred to you that the other time was just a crush and you're the real thing for him? Kal, I'll never have the happiness that you've got right in front of you. Maybe I do read to many romances, but there is something special between you and Yevgen, or I'm not Lianne of Conté, and you'd be a fool not to grasp it." She shook herself and then returned the handkerchief to her sister. "Now, I'm going to go in there, flirt outrageously, and not think about the shortlist until tomorrow." With that, Lianne went back in, though Kalasin stayed outside. 

Radanae dared a glanced at Yevgen, but found that he was staring at Kalasin, but in disbelief, rather than for the reason that Lianne had proposed. Radanae turned and opened the door to re-enter the reception room. She held up her hand to prevent Yevgen following her. "No. Stay. You've got the perfect opportunity now to say what you have to. Tell her." She said sternly, then closed the door behind them, making sure that it was audible. 

Further down, Kalasin jumped, and Yevgen cursed under his breath, damning all trained bureaucrats to a particularly unpleasant afterlife. With a quick, brief prayer to gods he only semi-believed in, he strode determinedly towards his wife, feigning surprise when she turned around. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was out here. I…came to get some fresh air. It's very stuffy." He was aware that he was rambling. 

"Yes, well, parties do get that way," Kally agreed. "The moon's bright tonight," she remarked, looking up at the sky. 

Yevgen glanced back over his shoulder at the party. It was going very well without them. He looked over at Kalasin, noting that she had sensibly thrown a warm wrap over her evening dress – which was as practical as those things ever are. 

Some part of him conceded that Radanae was right. Things needed to be cleared up before it interfered with their work. Another part, however, was elated by further confirmation that her words that morning were not merely spoken in the heat of the moment. There was too, that uncomfortable feeling, that burning sensation, when she had recounted all the other prospective grooms she'd had. Yes. Things needed to be cleared up. 

"I was starting to get a bit of a headache in there," he lied, "I'm just going for a walk in the gardens. Do you want to come?"   
  
  
  
  



	13. Moonlight

Moonlight

The silvered threads in Kalasin's favourite shawl glimmered slightly, touched by the moon. It was virtually their only illumination as they walked further away from the Palace, though truth be told, both had rather good nightvision. They made their way to a meeting point of all the gardens, where there was a stone fountain and small, carved benches. 

Yevgen sat at one of them, resting his elbows on his knees and looking broodingly (something he did rather well, for all that blondes aren't meant to be able to do it) at the graceful cascades of water. Kally sat down beside him. "Is your headache better?" she asked, unable to think of what else to say. 

"Humm?" he sat up suddenly, "Oh, yes, it's much better now. The oil lamps, perhaps. Remind me never to order both the lamps and the candles lit. Probably the competing fragrances." 

There was a moment or two of silence, broken only by the merry tinkling of water. "I…spoke to my sister earlier…" Kally's voice was clear in the stillness, "it's her turn to marry soon…she's rather upset about it…" 

"Oh, how so?" Yevgen asked politely, because there was something in Kalasin's tone that begged the question. 

Kally slumped, "Because the best prospect – politically, that is – happens to be Barnesh of Maren…" 

"I won't dispute that," Yevgen agreed, "but I can see why she would be upset about it – I believe that he would be rather older than my mother – even were she still alive. Do you think that we should make some special effort for her during this visit? – for, if she told you just now, I must assume that the decision is very much imminent." 

"It is. It is. Far sooner than anyone would have liked. Yevgen…about this morning…" she hesitated. "I know…well…it wasn't the most eloquent way…but I meant it, everything. I am _so_ very lucky to have you, and Lianne just made that very clear to me. It's not…comparisons…or anything. Even if we were just…ordinary…I would still feel the same way. Look, I am sorry, I know that you don't feel…" she drew back slightly in surprise as his arms went around her and pulled her towards him in a gentle, but very, very passionate kiss. 

"No, Kal," he said, somewhat breathlessly, when they broke free some minutes later, "I know this is much overdue – but please, listen. I'm…not…really all that good with words, oh, I can make a pretty speech to Council, I can insult sycophantic envoys, but, really, not with anything that really matters. I was trained as a soldier and a politician – neither an occupation where a surfeit of sincerity is particularly desirable. But what I am trying to say – in a rather rambling and somewhat ineloquent manner is that…well…umm. Kalasin, please, do believe me when I say I love you. And I do." He added, somewhat uselessly. 

Kally looked closely at him for a few seconds. He coloured slightly (though she knew that through his posture, rather than being able to see the change in his complexion in the dark), but did not look away under her gaze. His eyes, even darker now than usual because of the lack of light, seemed to burn – though Kally was otherwise sure that it was biologically improbable. However, it was only for a few seconds, just a few seconds for Kally to register what he had just said, and to pull Yevgen closer, dragging his head down (while she was considered tall for a Tortallan woman, he still had several inches advantage over her) to hers. He seemed more startled at her sudden movements than surprised at her actions, and then shocked her in his turn by pulling her down onto the immaculately kept grass. 

Though Kalasin later thought that it was very, very selfish of her, for some time afterwards, little sisters, and their misery in this particular aspect of their lives, could not possibly have been any further from her mind. It was far, far more agreeably otherwise engaged.   
  


Lady Keladry, the second female knight in Tortall for over a hundred years, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. It was the Imperial Ambassador, the young woman gave Kel a subtle 'thumbs up', which she then interpreted to mean that the reason for the King and Queen's absence from the reception was for a positive reason – as far as Princess Lianne was concerned. Kel sighed. While she did not participate in the Court gossip circles, nobody in the Palace, or even Corus, was unaware of the intense speculation concerning the betrothal of the younger princess. In the almost-two-years since Kalasin's wedding, the tales of the bridegroom had been exaggerated, as such things always are, and now King Yevgen of Sarain was the most perfect, chivalrous, courtly and handsome knight ever to set foot upon the earth, at least as far as the Court Ladies were concerned. Any conversation that concerned Lianne's possible betrothals invariably contained "…poor girl, well, she can't be expected to be as fortunate as her sister…" 

Lianne's inclusion in the party going to Sarain was meant to give her a break from the speculation, to allow her to get away from the streams of envoys anxious to secure a young bride with both Tortallan connections and beauty that came from her notoriously attractive parents. Kel also suspected that another part of King Jonathan's – if not Queen Thayet's – objectives was to let Lia see that arranged marriages could turn out well, that Roald and Shinko were not an anomaly. In Kel's humble opinion, not at all affected by the fact that she didn't particularly like King Jonathan personally (mostly), _that_ aspect of the Sarain trip was a spectacular failure. For a start, both Lianne's new in-laws were young, attractive, thoroughly pleasant, passably sane, had no antisocial habits or unspeakable hobbies, were quite madly in love with her siblings, and her siblings were equally in love with them. Kel rather thought that Crown Princess Shinkokami and King Yevgen would make _any_ prospective bridegroom look rather second-rate, much less the considerably worse pool that was left for Princess Lianne. 

Much to Kel's surprise, though, the diplomat did not return to the milling crowds in the party. Instead, she appeared to check herself midstride, and then give the room a narrowed glance, before gliding off. Curious, Keladry followed, until Radanae stopped in a corridor, and took a good look around (Kel hid in a shadowed alcove), before saying, "Kel, come out. I know you're there." 

Keladry was about to reveal herself when a panel high on the wall moved softly aside, and a figure jumped out and landed perfectly right in front of the Imperial. The figure was a young man – some years younger than Radanae – probably about Kel's own age – tall, with dark hair, a lean but muscular build, and an air of dangerous competence. He was dressed as an aristocrat, though in dark, dull colours. It was unlikely that he'd be noticed in the corridors, but in the event that he was, very few would have challenged him. There was an astounding resemblance between them, and their relationship was obvious even before Sir Kelvar Gavrillian gave a suspicious bow to his sister and asked, "How on earth did you know I was up there?" 

"One hint, little brother," she rolled her eyes, "when you hide in a ventilation shaft when your sister's around don't wear the cologne she commissioned for your last birthday. Though I have to confess I suspected something of the sort when Kay and Justinia seemed so complacent about Evie, and then I heard something scrambling around in the shafts earlier, and I'm sure that there are no rats here. Last I heard you were drinking rotgut with radicals in Bersone. So, spill." 

The Swords might technically have more power than one minor functionary in the Service, but younger brothers know when their elder sisters are not to be trifled with. This was one of those times. 

"Maren," he said reluctantly. "Rislyn is concerned about Barnesh – oh, not in itself – she's concerned that other princelings around our borders can think they can muck around with us if we continue to let him make noises around this little border. No real problems in Sarain itself – oh, I mean there are a few die-hards on both the Saren and K'mir sides, but most of those groups are the ones that we've set up anyway, so there should be name lists and evidence on your desk – as soon as you get one – if you ever need to use them. The Service…sorry Rad, the Service isn't quite equipped for this sort of espionage. You lot do better in established contacts. Swords are better at this sort of thing." 

It was an age-old rivalry, so Radanae let it stand. 

"How many of you?" 

"Not that many. Mostly in Maren and the borders, though, yours truly arrived a few days ago. A few keep an eye on Evie – pure gossip, and back-up protection only, I assure you," he added hastily "nothing like that." He meant that Rislyn had no reason to believe that Yevgen was a challenge to her Diadem. 

Radanae sighed. "You still on official duty, or can you take a break? There's roast duck with plum sauce and those steamed crepes you like so much." They walked back towards the reception. Though Keladry shrank back as far into the alcove as she could and drew a convenient hanging over the entrance, she could have sworn that Radanae briefly looked in her direction, and winked.   
  


Talking to female Imperial knights and K'mir clanswomen, with their freedom to contract marriages with whomever they chose depressed her, and talking to Saren women, who had vehement objections to the custom of picking their own husbands without their family's consent, depressed her even more, so Lianne was over at a refreshments table getting herself another comforting serve of crème caramel when _he_ entered. 

'He' was tall, dark, and, in her own opinion at least, very handsome. Dressed in sombre colours, but rich fabrics, he moved gracefully around the room. Lianne only became aware that she was staring when he came over to the buffet and picked up a plate, selecting dainties along the way. 

"Your Highness?" she turned to see Radanae, eyes snapping with mirth and barely able to hold back a grin. The Imperial beckoned the young man over – for, close up, Lianne could see that he wasn't much older than her – he was probably barely out of his teens, in his early twenties at the most. "Princess Lianne, might I present my younger brother Sir Kelvar Gavrillian, Dux Tertia. Kel, her Royal Highness Princess Lianne of Conté, daughter of King Jonathan and Queen Thayet of Tortall." 

Kelvar quickly put his plate down on the table and bowed over Lianne's automatically raised hand. There seemed to be a slight tension in the air, a slight spark. Kel's sister could barely contain her delight, despite her excellent and thorough diplomatic training. It was all she could do not to skip as she made her way to the orchestra and ordered a waltz.   


Some time later in the evening, the King and Queen rather sheepishly slipped in a side door, hair mussed, clothes rumpled, torn, grass-stained and with several buttons missing. Radanae noticed but did not give them much mind – after all, there was a far more interesting game at foot now. She gave them a nod in the direction of the dance floor, and then made concerted efforts to ensure that nobody impeded the royal couple's progress as they made they way up to their bedchamber. 

"I'm afraid this has had it," Kally said sadly, holding up the blue wool shawl. "You officially sent it with the sapphires as a betrothal gift," she informed Yevgen. 

"Yes, I remember it," he answered, much to her slight surprise. She had known that he was aware of the beautiful collection of sapphire jewellery that was his betrothal gift (his mother or one of his sisters, or otherwise a functionary had picked them), but not that he had known of the shawl. "It's a wedding shawl – it's meant to be able to be passed through the betrothal ring." He told her, "they're most common among the wealthiest knightly families, because they're so difficult to make, and require the very finest wool from a particular breed of sheep or goat – I forget which. I'll get you another one if you want." He offered. "It's my fault it's a bit ragged, anyway." 

They exchanged shy grins as they undressed properly. If they gave each other rather more assistance than was strictly necessarily, well, their clothing was rather damp from the grass, and had been very hastily pulled on before they returned to the Palace. Some clear thinking individual – probably Yevgen's valet or Kally's maid – had prepared a hot bath, steaming with the heady, intense scent of sandalwood and rose. Yevgen gave a little sigh of delight as he sank under the water, then held out his arms to assist Kally in after him. Their bathroom was huge – one of his few completely decadent indulgences (though there was one not very much smaller in the Queen's wing) – the size of a not-that-poor peasant's entire home, with a sunken tub that could easily accommodate six or seven. Luckily, the Palace was built on hot springs, and there was also an enormous copper urn in the bathroom with its own brazier, otherwise it would have been impossible to fill. There was a larger facility on the ground floor, complete with steam rooms and pools of differing temperatures large enough to swim in, but Yevgen and Kally tended to visit it separately after a well-documented incident that the staff (and most of Sarain) were still sniggering about. 

After the inevitable activities that took place in the bath, she lay back in his arms, and then asked the question that had plagued her as they had scampered through the reception room. 

"Who was that dancing with my sister?" 

"That? The man in the charcoal?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh, that. Kelvar Gavrillian, Radanae's younger brother. One of Rislyn's Swords." 

"Excuse me?" 

"They're elite military units. Perhaps the closest analogy would be a cross between your father's Own, and the Service, only with less preoccupation with good manners. Rislyn's bully-boys and girls, basically." 

"Oh," 

"But he's a perfectly fine person," Yevgen felt compelled to add, hastily, then sobered a little. "Though, it is the first sign I've had that he's visiting. Radanae would have told me if he was dropping in…" 

"Is that odd?" 

"Only the Service wasn't told – which is unusual. Ris would leave all but the most sensitive assignments to them. Two possibilities – and the first is the most probable – that the Maren and Tusiane situations worry my sister more than one should suppose. Swords often take the very highly specialised assignments – elite guard units, personal bodyguards, infiltration into specific groups, especially if the Service hasn't got its preferred amount of coverage yet. The Service tends to take care of the more mundane tasks." 

"What's the second?" 

"The second what?" he asked 

"You said that there were two possibilities." 

"Well, the second is more of an improbability. If it were true, I would be dead by now. The Swords are sworn to uphold the Empress. The other reason they would be coming here would be to kill me." 

Kally sat up with a start, but Yevgen coaxed her back down into the water. "As I said, that's highly unlikely. Swords have the priorities set right. If Kel was an assassin – and they wouldn't send him anyway – he'd have killed me before going to the party. Anyway, that sort of operation would have to take care of Kay first, because she's the stronger claimant. Now, do you want me to scrub your back? There's this little grass stain right here that's not coming off…."   
  


He was charming, and gracious. He was also extremely wealthy and connected to the greatest Imperial families. Even though he wasn't the heir to the family fortune, his personal inheritance was staggering by Eastern standards. Even the modest private estate he would have as a younger child wasn't all that much smaller than Maren. All right, the last two were pure speculation – but Lianne didn't care. All she knew was that in the vast reception room of her sister's beautiful Palace, lit by a thousands of candles, and illuminated by the moon streaming in the crystal skylight, she had fallen in love.   


"Who was that young man you were dancing with, Lia?" Duke Gareth asked his younger great-niece, though he already knew. 

"Kelvar Gavrillian. He's Radanae's younger brother," she said dreamily, only peripherally attached to the world. 

Gareth exchanged anxious looks with Alanna and George. Buri was still at the party, for once distracted by finding some long-lost distant relatives and was now engrossed in conversation. They all knew one of the main reasons for Lianne's accompanying them was to take her mind off the depressing process that was choosing a bridegroom for her. The last thing they needed was a handsome, charming young Imperial to take her mind in a completely different direction. He could not deny that the young knights here in Sarain were vastly more appealing to a young woman than the unappetising short-list that had been formulated at Council. In other circumstances, another match with the Empire might have been very advantageous, especially this one. Sir Myles of Olau, who was interested in the particular identifies of the knights sent as the initial delegation to Tortall nearly two years ago, had managed to obtain sketchy details of both those knights and their immediate families. The Gavrillians were one of the oldest, most powerful, and certainly one of the most wealthy Houses in the Empire. They had produced an impressive strings of warriors and generals for successive Empresses, and though the current scion's avid interest in politics and diplomacy was quite odd, her two brothers were two of the most highly regarded young knights in the Empire. At any other time, Gareth would have no hesitation at all encouraging Lianne's interest. But now…with Scanra always so unstable, and Tusiane hovering on the edge of anarchy, an alliance closer to home was vital. Negotiations with Galla and Cathark for Jasson and Liam were nearing completion. Maren and the Copper Isles remained the only missing pieces – and Maren was vital, if only to keep Tusiane in check. Gareth sighed as the drowsy attendants opened the doors to their wing for them. Despite his reputation as a stern disciplinarian, he was not a harsh man, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit that he was going to have to be the one to dash his niece's dreams.   
  


Kally woke the next morning feeling completely and utterly relaxed. There was a slight movement beside her and she turned on her side to see Yevgen siting on the side of the bed, getting dressed. 

"What time is it?" she asked, getting up on her elbows. 

"Far, far too early," Yevgen leaned back and kissed her affectionately. Kally grabbed hold of his arms and tried to prolong it, but he drew back with some reluctance. "No," he said, mock-sternly, "you know what always happens after that, and I've got an appointment down at the practice courts." 

"Oh? With who?" Kally sat up, interested. That she was doing annoying things to his concentration wasn't at all on her mind. 

"Your uncle," he said, much to her surprise. For some reason, his fingers were very slow in doing up the buttons on his shirt. "Well, not your uncle exactly. It sounds like most of the Tortallan knights. He wants to have a look at Imperial swordsmanship." He gave up on the shirt, pulled it off and flung it onto the floor. "Alright," he said, collapsing back onto the wide expanse of the bed and letting himself be pulled under the sheets by Kally, "I'm sure he won't mind if I'm half an hour late. Or forty five minutes," he corrected, a few seconds later.   
  


Kally remembered that it was one of her mornings with the female knights only when she came down the stairs an hour later, still lacing up her shirt, to find a group of them waiting in the large courtyard. They exchanged smirks among themselves, and gave her a collective suggestive look (and an equally inappropriate look at the retreating Yevgen's backside, that Kally did not think at all polite), before indicating that she should begin her thrice-weekly torture. 

Kally was told that she wasn't considered at all bad even by Imperial standards, though she rarely felt like it, as most of the female knights in Sarain were the ones with the better martial skills. However, they were good teachers, and took care to explain to her all the different moves appropriate for each type of weaponry. As she had started so late (or so they claimed), and had comparatively little time, they were only working on the weapons that they felt she was most likely to use – sword, dagger – and unarmed fighting. Her archery was fair by Imperial standards, and really required little further technical work, just practice, and even her critical new friends had to concede that she was a gifted equestrienne.   
  
She was a quivering, dripping wreck by the time she finished, experiencing quite a different form of exhaustion as she had only a few minutes before, only not quite so pleasant. Yevgen was still half-killing young Tortallan knights that she vaguely recognised from her girlhood. Kally walked towards the small Tortallan audience, trying to neaten herself up as she went. 

Lianne was standing against one of the pillars, not paying any attention at all to the fencing bouts, instead engrossed in conversation with young man. 

"My brother," came Radanae's clear, slightly dry voice just beside her. Kalasin started slightly, then turned to see the Imperial dressed in practice clothes, holding a practice sword, and looking slightly mussed, though Kally could not recall seeing the other woman on the practice courts. "As you can see," Radanae continued with a graceful little inclination of her head, "my brothers got the looks, the athletic ability, and the charm, I got the money and the brains, and I can't say that I didn't get the better half of the bargain." 

Kally felt a slight edge in the other woman's voice. It was true that both Rory and Kelvar could be considered handsomer than their sister – but Kally felt that was more due to the fact that features that were strong on large men were simply harsh on a smallish (at least by Imperial standards – Radanae wasn't much shorter than Kally herself) woman. 

Lianne's laughter spilled across the courts, a genuinely happy sound, the first time, Kally guessed, that her younger sister had laughed in a long time. She glanced quickly across at Radanae, who raised an eyebrow, then winked.   
  
  
  



	14. Letters/Meanwhile...

Letters/ Meanwhile…

_Dear nephew and niece,_ Gareth wrote, then paused. It was a delicate subject, and he wasn't quite sure how to put it. He took the easy exit and decided to write about things that Jonathan and Thayet would like to hear. 

_Kally seems very happy here,_ he continued. King _Yevgen is a fine young man and treats her with the utmost courtesy and respect. They seem to have genuine affection for each other, and it is very touching to see. They almost remind me of you two at the beginning of your reign, though they do not turn up late to meetings with inadequate excuses and sheepish expressions._ (That was carefully worded. Yevgen thought it beneath his dignity to offer such excuses and saw no reason to be ashamed. Kally was following his lead, though Gareth did not think that Kally's parents wanted to hear that.) _However, I wish I could say that familial ties and love have been an advantage in negotiations – for they have not. We have concluded the trade and defence pacts, and I am satisfied with the results. Tough – but I have to admit that they are fair to both sides. Copies, of course, are enclosed._

_The Saren Palace is completely rebuilt, though I am sure that Buri could tell you far more about it than I could (that is, if she ever finishes that scent-drenched epic she is writing to Goldenlake), our accommodations are comfortable, and the catering and staff are excellent. You should consider poaching one or two, but I have the feeling that your excellent son-in-law would probably try to skin you alive, as he is justifiably proud of his abilities as host. Might I suggest a State visit, or even a private call upon your daughter? I assure you that the food is well worth the trip._

_On another note, however, Lianne appears to have formed an attachment with a young man who is visiting Sarain. His name is Sir Kelvar Gavrillian, and he is the younger brother of the young knight who caught Myles of Olau's interest nearly two years ago. Further details of this young man are attached behind the trade and defence agreements. Radanae Gavrillian is here as well, officially as Imperial Envoy, unofficially, I believe, co-ordinating the Imperial Intelligence activities this side of the Roof._

_I have subtly indicated to Lianne that such an attachment may not be advisable in the current climate (as you may imagine, Alanna is no help whatsoever in these matters, George sensibly does not cross his wife, Buri only speaks of it to declare the men on the Council shortlist 'slimy', and Lady Keladry seems most determined to spend her days on tests of skill with the Imperial knights, and not to be involved in anything even remotely unmilitaristic), but she does not appear receptive._

_I fear that this will end with pain on both sides. I respectfully seek your thoughts on this matter,_

_I am,_

_Yours, etc_

_Gareth, Duke of Naxen._

He laid down the pen with a sigh, and examined the letter critically. Not perfect, he decided, but it conveyed the point well enough. He hunted around for his sealing wax, and eventually found that one of his dogs was holding it in his mouth, and sitting up. Gareth patted the terrier and pressed his seal onto the letter, before tossing it into the pile that would be delivered back to Corus.   


_Dear Kay and Justinia,_

_I hope you two have come to your senses after that ridiculous experiment with the weather/earth magery. However, you will be disgustingly pleased to know that it did appear to have something approaching the desired affect. Evie and Kalasin are all over each other like turtledoves now that each does not have to be pretend to have only friendly feelings for the other. They are continually running into meetings late with suspiciously wrinkled clothes and very badly concealed hickeys. It's like being back at the Academy again during springtime (or any other time, to tell the truth). It's positively sickening. By the by, whose idea was it to send Kel over? I must say, it was inspired. Princess Lianne has fallen quite devastatingly for him – and my brother is as interested as he has ever been in a girl. Added to that, it will comprehensively irritate Barnesh no end. Did you know that the latest intercepts have him offering practically half his treasury as a bride price for her? The sleazy git's been single nearly two and a half years, probably a record for him, hoping for one or other of the Conté princesses. How I wish I could see the look on his face when this attempt falls through._

_Yes, she is Gifted – not as powerful as Kalasin, but come on, who is in the Empire these days – and really very pleasant. Not as assertive as Kalasin is, but what can one expect from Easterners? Everyone is well, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered with sending them to you the slow way. I'm nearly out of the powder, and more won't come for three weeks._

_Yours etc_

_Radanae_

_P.S. Is it just me, or are everyone's hormones going overboard now? Are you two still happily bachelored, or do I have to grit my teeth and buy more engagement presents? It's really disturbing here. There is absolutely no free talent of that sort, though I continue to take that foul-tasting tea in a sort of desolate hope._

_P.P.S. Don't show this to Lara. I have sent her a nothing-letter about the weather. She really doesn't need to know about Evie._   


Radanae couldn't quite hold back a grin as she sealed the letter both physically and magically before tossing it into the diplomatic satchel. If one discounted the perpetual problems with the building site, this little trip was proving to be far more entertaining that she had ever dreamed. She pulled on a warm coat and grabbed a hat to go outside to check on things at the Embassy site, comforted by the thought that all was going well. Except her own love life, because at twenty-two and living away from home, she really ought to have more than a bound copy of historical treatises to entertain her at night. She rebuked herself for being ridiculous, and then had to admit that it was largely because she was very, very picky, rather than any real lack of possible companions. 

_Dear Raoul,_

_Don't mind the scent – I spilled it, and it's not mine anyway. Well, we've all arrived safely, and things are very comfortable here. Well, apart from the parties, of course, but I have to allow that our hosts lay a very good table, and that compensates somewhat. Trust me, it does, especially when I've spent the last few evenings chatting with the relations of the people who used to hunt mine. However, I have met many old friends and distant relatives that I had not thought were still alive, and they are as content as you would expect in the direction that the new Sarain is taking. They want to meet you, by the way. Kally seems happy, I know you always had a soft spot for her, and yes, The Boy is treating her very well. Sometimes she comes down for breakfast with such a ridiculously silly smile on her face I want to slap the girl. I miss you all the time, but most especially when she does that. Lianne may have found a way to escape from Barnesh's clutches – she's very much enamoured of a young Imperial knight here. He's young, handsome, and charming, of course, but what may sway Jon more is that he's also considerably wealthier than Barnesh, and comes from a very important Imperial family. You might like to drop that in Council sometime._

_Kel asks me to send her regards, and that her swordsmanship and hand-to-hand has improved markedly since we have come here. She would write, but she has badly sprained her wrist in a jousting accident (before you get up in arms and challenge someone by letter, it WAS an accident. Peachblossom was very embarrassed about it, and the girl she was jousting against broke two ribs. So there.)_

_Yours_

_Buri._

The red wax dripped onto the paper like blood, glistening with tiny particles of gold. Well, not really, but Buri had always wanted to do that, because the wax used by the Riders was a particularly uninspiring but practical sludge, and the Saren royals supplied rather nice stationary for their guests. . 

_Dear Rory,_

_Umm…I don't know how to ask this…but how did you tell Mum and Dad about Selera?_

_Kel_

_P.S. If you're curious, ask Rad. I'm sure that she'll be ONLY TOO GLAD to tell you the details._

That was all Kelvar had time to write to his elder brother, really, because he needed to start out right away to get to the Maren border to take a look first-hand at the garrisons stationed at Barnesh's forts, and to help mop up a few spies that had managed to get themselves entrenched into the border towns that the Service didn't have the resources to remove without a fuss. If he hurried, he might have time to pop into one of the markets for a little trinket for Princess Lianne on his way back … 

(in Alanna's handwriting) 

_ Dear Jon and Thayet,_

_We're quite sure that Duke Gareth and Buri have already told you about the situation here, but might we add that we're very happy for BOTH your daughters? The Palace is very nice. Have you ever considered adding steamrooms and swimming pools to your bathhouses? They're really very handy additions to the facilities._

_Alanna and George._

_P.S. He's very handsome and twenty at the most – that's about a third of Barnesh's age. You know who I mean. Lianne seems to like him very much._   


Alanna smirked as she sealed the letter. She had never quite approved of Jonathan's high-handed tactics regarding the lives of his offspring, and thought it sheer dumb luck that the two eldest were as happy in their partners as they were. As she dropped it onto the growing pile to be sent to Corus, she hoped that second Conté princess could be as happy as the first. 

The last letter, bluntly, though fluidly written with an economical hand in ordinary black ink, looked rather odd on the first-rate watermarked parchment with the elaborate crest and complex seal. 

_Ris,_

_I would appreciate very much in future should you see fit to inform me BEFORE you send the Swords over here for intelligence purposes. I hear and obey the Empress, but seriously, those moles were so obvious they were perfect for leaking. Happy Birthday, and Kay has the present._

_Yevgen_   
  
  


_In the Capital of Tortall (shameless plagiarism from 'Lioness Rampant')_

Jonathan was both pleased and disturbed by his uncle's letter, and simply disturbed by the one from his Champion. He passed both letters to his wife, who took a full five minutes before she had recovered from her laughter before she could speak. 

"Goddess," Thayet gasped at last, wiping her eyes. "Alanna really couldn't have made it more clear, could she? Court seems so much duller when she's not around." 

Jonathan was more pensive as they say in their shared office, perusing the mail from the delegation they had sent to Sarain before a Council meeting scheduled to discuss the information sent back. There had been another letter in addition to the various letters and reports addressed to the monarchs, strangely addressed in Buri's handwriting, but reeking of a strong lavender scent. However, before either could ponder that outright contradiction, a surprisingly agile Knight Commander of the King's Own (who was hovering around the King for no apparent reason), had snatched it the moment the dispatches were opened and had subsequently disappeared. 

"What do you think?" he asked his wife warily. Truth to be told, he sometimes wondered if he didn't rather like living dangerously when it came to women. Thayet, when she put her mind to it, wasn't really all that much less volatile than Alanna or Delia of Eldorne. 

"You know what I think about the situation for Lianne," she replied crisply, folding up Duke Gareth's letter and returning it to desk between them. 

He did. Only too well. In over twenty years of marriage, their most significant fights had been over their children, most especially their own marriages. Two had turned out well, by all accounts – and young Jon was doing spectacularly well, too. Jonathan, however, forced himself to admit that both Roald and Kally's happiness in marriage had been entirely matters of chance. 

"It does look like a good match on the face of it," Jon said, at last, spreading out the few pages of documentation that his uncle had managed to obtain on Sir Kelvar Gavrillian. With it was attached a note. 

_ It was suspiciously easy to get this information. Make of that what you will. Uncle Gareth._

Jon and Thayet exchanged anxious looks before continuing. Obviously, he was not quite so well-credentialed as the King of Sarain, but apart from the distance between Tortall and the Gavrillian family estates (Gareth confessed that he was unable to give the precise locations of the House possessions – for it was based in the rich central south-east region, almost as far away from Tortall as they could get) there were no disadvantages regarding Sir Kelvar, compared with the other Eastern nobles that were being considered. Indeed, the young man's personal fortune appeared to come near to the entire treasuries of some Eastern countries, even though the Duke of Naxen's notes emphasised the young man's position as a minor member of the House, with an older sister and brother who took precedence. 

"He's right, you know," Thayet said softly after they finished reading the brief, but informative notes. "He shouldn't have been able to get these unless he was meant to. Which means I'm very curious as to the game they're playing. We've known that Gavrillian is a very prominent House for nearly two years. Details like this – would not be given away lightly. It makes me wonder which parts they wanted us to know, and which parts were due to your excellent uncle." 

Jonathan muttered an agreement. "I can't help but feel that this is all very convenient. We give Lianne a break to think things over about it – and give her a very difficult choice, I must admit. Suddenly, days after she arrives, a wealthy, well-connected, handsome young man appears out of nowhere. I wonder how much of a hand Kally had in it…" 

"She didn't know about the delegation two days before they arrived," Thayet supplied. She produced a letter rather guiltily from the locked drawer on her side of the double desk. "She wanted some advice from me on a rather personal matter that you would probably be uncomfortable with, and didn't mention the visit at all. Did you know the Imperials don't do Beltane?" she asked conversationally. Jonathan held out his hand in a silent request for the letter, but she refused. "As I said, it's not something that you'd feel easy knowing. However, I can tell you that it concerns children, or lack thereof. Happy?" she rather pointedly locked the letter back into its drawer. She was right, of course, Jon was uncomfortable knowing that his daughter sought such advice. 

"What do you think?" he asked his wife, "Can we afford to disappoint Barnesh a second time? He made his grief plain when Kalasin married." That was an understatement. Though he had sent a gift to the couple (prompted partly, no doubt, by the impressive Imperial hardware on his eastern border), the promising trade talks had inexplicably faded away, due to the need for 'further consultations' by the Maren delegation. Barnesh was after another young, beautiful wife, and he was beginning to be less and less subtle about the fact that he preferred a Conté princess. His delegation offered huge sums to – both Jon and Thayet winced at the sentiment, though it was true – buy Lianne, coupled with very generous trade and military treaties. Jonathan and Thayet's announcement, a few weeks ago, that their younger daughter would have until Midwinter to choose a husband for herself from the shortlist (whose names were not mentioned in public, for diplomatic reasons) had prompted another round of competition among the various envoys all seeking Lianne's hand. It was actually quite hilarious. While there was no shortage of eligible girls in this current generation, with Kalasin's marriage to an Imperial Prince, Lianne's already impeccable connections were further raised, and her undeniable beauty made her the first choice of every unattached male noble west of the Roof.   
  


The Councillors had been provided with copies of the reports, and the treaties that were awaiting the King's signature, and showed signs of having read them hurriedly when they arrived in the Council Chambers. 

After the usual lengthy round of discussions, it was agreed that the treaties were generally fair, though a few bemoaned what they saw as Queen Kalasin's apparent lack of loyalty to her old home. 

Sir Gareth the Younger saw the tell-tale signs of tension in Queen Kalasin's parents, and hastened to coldly inform those who complained that for what it was worth, despite appearances, Sarain was an Imperial province, and most of the treaties were negotiated with Imperial officials, as well as the Saren King and Queen. He also pointed out that those agreements that pertained only to Sarain tended to be somewhat more generous to Tortall than those that concerned the rest of the Empire, and that was probably due to Kalasin. 

Jonathan and Thayet had quietly brought up the matter of Lianne's apparent romance previously with those members of the Council that they were closest to – namely, Sir Myles of Olau, Sir Gareth, and Lord Raoul. Myles had trouble hiding a small smile, and Jon eventually got him to confess that the young man was rumoured to be a member of the Empress's personal guard, a sort of King's Own with more powers and less manners. That did not go down well, especially with the Knight Commander of the King's Own, who claimed he had prior intelligence of the matter from a pungent letter, which he refused to let anyone else read. 

Considering the amount of debate that the matter generated in their small office, Jonathan and Thayet decided to announce a possible latecomer to Lianne's collection of suitors. The room promptly exploded into the predictable factions. Those with fiefs on the eastern border were anxious to promote the match with Barnesh, stating the wealth of that country and its strategic importance, especially with Tusaine so unstable. Those with western coastal holdings lobbied very hard for the Crown Prince of the Copper Isles, and those with no opinions either way were very much impressed by the Imperial's reported wealth. People tended to ignore the Gallan prince as a non-entity, but that was no help as the Council table slowly but surely descended into chaos.   


_In the Middle of Nowhere_

The former broom closet that had been converted into a reading room for the Imperial Heir and her two lieutenants was just large enough for the said two lieutenants to sprawl on shabbily comfortable army surplus bed-rolls that had been re-sewn into cushions and indulge in their secret literary passions. As Kay flung open the door, Justinia's _Elements of Forensic Pathology_, and Lara's _A Guide to Elegantly Effortless Interior Design – from Cottages to Castles_, were hastily shoved behind a shelf and under a cushion respectively. 

Kay was holding two letters, the bulkier one opened. She handed the other to Lara, who scanned it in a matter of seconds, then held up a missive about meteorology, archaeology, and zoology. "Right, what's really happening there?" she asked, nodding at Kay's letter. 

"It appears that Kel's arrived there and is making quite an impression," Justinia was reading sideways. "We might manage a second Conté match. An added bonus, it might ruffle Barnesh up a bit more." 

"Good," Lara laid back. One of her close friends from the Academy had come back from the Maren delegation two years ago with tales of disgust about that land's monarch. "How old is Princess Lianne, anyway?" 

Kay shrugged, "Mid, late teens – twenty at the very most, but don't forget that these Eastern nobles sometimes marry as early as thirteen or so." She shuddered. The vast majority of knights would still be unattached at twice that age – only the wealthiest and most powerful tended to contract marriages early, and even then, both parties were old enough for knighthoods. 

"Have you heard from Ris?" Justinia remembered to ask. "She might tell you about Kel being over there." 

Kay produced a letter with the Empress's personal seal. "Barnesh is getting restless. He's getting very clumsy about his spies. Kel and a few others – Yelizabeta, Muzan, Xeizi, Davit – those are the ones that we even vaguely know – are over there to take care of the problem before it gets out of hand. The Service doesn't know yet," she added, though they had already guessed, "you know how they feel about that way of solving the problem." 

"Well, you can see their point of view," Lara was trying to be fair, "I mean, they prefer to keep an eye on the ones they know about – and you have to give them credit for the speed that they do find out about such things – than to be continuously on their guard for new tactics." 

"I'm not disputing that," Kay dropped down heavily onto a pile of cushions, "not at all." But then she smiled, with the glee of one who has read too many reports of someone unpleasant though they have never seen them in the flesh, "But oh, how I wish I could be there when Barnesh works out that we're giving him a hint to stop being an idiot!" 

Chuckles from the other two, as they grasped the details that they had not been explicitly told. "He drains his treasury while fortifying against threats we have no intention of seriously carrying out, loses his best spies – and the girl he really shouldn't be lusting for." Lara could barely contain her mirth. Barnesh would be humiliated, his impact as an annoyance greatly diminished, and the Empire could potentially gain more of the precious Conté Gifted blood in its aristocratic class. Empress Rislyn, who had a graduate diploma from the Imperial University in economics, was certainly making the best use of her resources. The three women exchanged amused smiles, before heading out of the reading room for a meeting with the other military personnel at this desolate fort. 

Empires don't keep themselves stable, you know. People have to work at it.   


_In the Capital of Maren_

It was weeks since his last spy in Sarain had made his last report, and King Barnesh was getting more and more uneasy about it was each day passed. 

Sarain. The Maren king swore and slammed his heavy jewel encrusted wine goblet down on the ebony table. Sarain had been ripe for the taking. For two decades, Sarain had been in shambles, and for two decades Barnesh had watched, taking his time. His people were farmers, not warriors, and he could not afford to expend his relatively modest army on bloodthirsty Saren and K'mir. So he had waited, until they had fought each other to exhaustion. 

He hadn't counted on Sarain's eastern neighbour taking on the same philosophy. It was two years since the Empire had made its appearance, and the results were only too apparent. Thousands of people of Saren descent had flooded back into their homeland, leaving farmland untended in South Maren, where he had settled them, leaving large tax revenue shortfalls. That wasn't all, though. The Empire had concluded treaties with all nations west of the Roof, including Maren, but Barnesh was not such a fool to think that he had a particularly generous set of conditions. 

Those had gone to Tortall, and he knew why. Gods above he knew why. That, the Empire had taken out of his reach too. Princess Kalasin of Conté, widely regarded as one of the most beautiful women in the world, rivalling even her famous mother. Her portraits had haunted Barnesh for years. He had been offering for her for years – even before his fourth wife, a snivelling little Gallan whose name he could barely recall, he thought contemptuously. The first time, he had accepted the graceful refusal with dignity – the girl was barely fourteen then, after all, justifiably young for marriage, and besides, the Emperor Kaddar was still single then – but he had wanted to get in early. The second time, he had thought he was in with a chance, with Kaddar married, and he the only reigning monarch. The second time, though, he found the negotiations abruptly cut off. He found out why barely a few weeks later, with an announcement that Kalasin was to marry an Imperial Prince. The Imperial Prince, only son of the late Empress, and brother of the present Empress. Barnesh gritted his teeth. For all his curiosity, he did not know much else about the rival who had snatched the Jewel of the Eastern Lands from his grasp. Myles of Olau kept a snappy counter-intelligence service, and the Imperials themselves were even stricter about their security. 

He took another heavy swallow of wine, and cursed Imperial security again. Though his spies were prevented from moving very far from the villages and towns on the border, they saw enough for Barnesh to know that the Imperials were serious about Sarain. The Imperial Prince – Yevgen, was his name, - and Kalasin, who Barnesh thought should have been his Kalasin, were installed as King and Queen, and vast amounts of Imperial investment poured in, far more money than in Barnesh's own treasury, and equally large numbers of Imperial Troops. 

Oh, he had built forts, but even he could see that it was a futile exercise. The Imperials sent a huge army over the Roof to face the Saren and the K'mir. They would have no qualms crossing the pleasant, barely delineated flatlands that were the border between Maren and Sarain and its peaceful people. 

The wine really wasn't all that good, but that didn't stop him swilling it down. His delegation in Corus was doing better than their pathetic predecessors. Princess Lianne was said to also be a beauty, and to resemble her sister to a remarkable degree. Not quite so striking, perhaps, but more demure, quieter. Barnesh could live with that, for he needed to marry quite quickly, and to a young wife, capable of sons. He had left it too long as it is, waiting for the protracted negotiations with Tortall to conclude. 

Barnesh had children – it would be more remarkable had he not. Two sons, eight daughters. By Marenite law and custom, none of the daughters, nor their children could take the throne. Of his sons, one had died in a hunting accident in his mid-twenties, the other of the Sweating Sickness. So, therefore, Maren had no heirs. The glass clanged onto the table again. Yes, he thought, Princess Lianne would do very well. The delegation reported that she was given until Midwinter to make a choice among her suitors, and that Barnesh was the choice favoured by the Tortallan Royal Council. It had never crossed Barnesh's mind that the princess would defy the wishes of her parents and their council, so he was confident of his chances. 

Barnesh smiled as the attending servant filled his goblet again. Intelligence reports from Corus indicated that Lianne was in Sarain, visiting her sister. Barnesh had organised meetings with the new King and Queen, ostensibly on trade – though that would be useful – the main reasons were more personal. He had not survived his decades on the throne by relying on the information of others. He wanted to see first-hand his neighbours, and if some small curious part of him wanted to meet the woman he had wanted as his bride, and the one he now expected to be, he did not admit it. 

His comfortable reverie was interrupted by a desperate pounding on the door of his private study. He sat up straight with some difficulty as a pale-faced court official from his modest Intelligence service came in, holding a smallish square box. 

"What is it?" he barked, as it was set before him. 

The official swallowed. "Your Majesty…our…our best operative in Sarain…" he trailed off as Barnesh, expecting some important information, opened the box…and then recoiled away in horror. 

Inside the box, with a grotesque expression of surprise, was the pride of Barnesh's intelligence service. Or more precisely, just his head. 

Barnesh raised shocked eyes to the courtier, who swallowed again, looking distinctly sick. "It…it was on my desk when I returned after lunch…" he began, but stopped as footsteps sounded outside. There were several of his colleagues there, men who administered Maren's spies. With horror, Barnesh counted the number of men who came in, each holding an identical box. Ten in all, including the first. The total number of spies they had in Sarain. Though it was an unpleasant task, they opened all the little caskets – to reveal that it was indeed, all the spies. 

While they took in the horrifying sight, Barnesh's spy chief walked in, an old man who had been running the spies for Maren since the days of Barnesh's father. He held no casket, but instead a plain parchment, sealed with merely a dab of wax. Seeing the heads so gruesomely displayed, he stumbled back, hand to his heart, but recovered to unfold he parchment on the desk. 

There was only one word, in a flowing, economical hand that was recognisably neither male nor female, but blatantly expressing contempt in a single word. 

_Amateurs_

After the nobles had left, the lone wine attendant polished the table and then went off to send a pigeon east with a message of only two words. _Mail arrived_.   
  
  
  
  
  



	15. State Visit

State Visit

"How do I look?" 

Yevgen emerged from his dressing room in a swirl of velvet and a chink of chain mail to seek Kally's opinion. Though Yevgen, like most Imperials, as a rule felt that the term 'ceremonial armour' was an oxymoron, he would never have willingly fought in this suit, fully functional as it was. It would have been too difficult to get blood out of the elaborate engraved designs on the breastplate, cuisses, and armguards, not to mention the sueded doeskin and silk-velvet he wore underneath. 

Kally took a minute to brush an imaginary bit of lint from the sweeping cloak, but then stepped back to admire him properly. Every single point of his outfit was designed to highlight the differences between the two kings, and to make Barnesh come out looking comprehensively the loser. Where Barnesh was elderly, plump, and had a noted taste for garish brocades and heavy jewels. Yevgen would be young (but not in any way inexperienced or naïve), athletic, powerful – the very image of a knight and a king – perfectly matching the two with the rich, but understated fabric of the clothing he would wear visible under his silvered mail and plate. They had learned from spies in the Maren King's camp that Barnesh was making an effort to wear a specially light suit of armour for the occasion. Consequently, they decided to contrast the affect by having Yevgen look deliberately casual in his (full weight) steel, wearing polished riding boots (no spurs, of course, like any other destrier-respecting Imperial knight, whether they were Talented or not) and soft kidskin gloves, as though it were his everyday dress. It wasn't, of course – for Yevgen it was ordinary clothing, or it was his armour. He disliked the concept of mixing and matching in theory, feeling it combined the worst parts of both. 

"Wonderful, as you well know." Kally stalked around him, "you know, if I hadn't known that it had taken you and Callum (Yevgen's valet/orderly/esquire) the better part for half an hour to get into it, I might be very much tempted to take it all off." She punctuated this with a particularly wicked smile that she would never have attempted even a few weeks ago. It spoke much of how much things had changed – not really the underlying feelings and emotions beneath it all – for they had been there, long before either of them cared to recall – but of how things were on the surface. 

He groaned. "Don't tempt me! Restraint's bad enough at the best of times, and you know that I'd almost rather do anything than meet that fat slug." Yevgen was to greet the King on the outskirts of the city (one of Barnesh's cousins – a sensible, sane one, married to an Imperial knight and granted a large fiefdom under Yevgen and Kally – met his relation at the border), and hence escort him to the Palace. 

Kally chuckled and kissed him on the cheek teasingly, but responded warmly enough when he returned it on her lips. They broke free and Yevgen picked up his formal crown – a deceptively fragile-looking band of platinum, with small, regular peaks, and ornamented with perfect Saren cognac diamonds – a play on the Imperial Diadem using a simpler design, and fewer and smaller stones. It would look perfectly subtle next to the famously garish Maren Crown, noted for the number of different large gemstones in its band, but very little else. Yevgen's only other jewellery, hidden under his gloves, would be his wedding ring. 

It took only a minute or two to change his sword over to a more ornate belt and scabbard and to fasten it around his waist. Kally accompanied him out to the courtyard where Everglade, groomed to a mirror sheen, waited. Like his master, the gelding was not above a little preening and was showing off, curvetting and half-rearing shamelessly in front of the admiring crowd, aware that he was being shown off to his best advantage. 

Radanae and a few others were waiting patiently with the horses, and Kally gave a little start, surprised to see the Imperial Envoy in half-armour similar to Yevgen's though of a more asture design. Kally berated herself silently. Though she had never actually seen Radanae so much as throw a punch, the other woman was a full knight, and must have earned the sword at her side. The familiar dull pain of jealousy flashed up again, but she suppressed it with the ease of long practice. If knighthood was what she wanted … hells, she could have had the title bestowed upon her at the coronation, but she had refused. All those years of yearning - she hadn't wanted knighthood specifically, that she saw that more clearly now than she had when she was younger. What she had wanted – really wanted – was to earn something by her own effort – not be handed to her like all the duties of a princess. She shook her head mentally. What she had now, the opportunity to prove herself worth of her title, to truly earn the title of a Queen, was far more important that a silly personal shield. It was. It had to be.   


It was not an especially warm day, but Barnesh was already feeling uncomfortable in his ceremonial armour. He cursed the rules of etiquette that dictated that he could not take off his heavy crown or fur-trimmed cloak. Under him, his too-tall golden destrier shifted restlessly, knowing that the King was no longer the horseman he had once been in his youth. 

Barnesh, of course, would have preferred to meet the Saren King on terms he was more comfortable with – in a luxurious pavilion set up somewhere, with comfortable chairs and fine wine. However, the arrival of his agents' heads had completely changed that. The royal advisors had insisted that he had to show that he was not an easy target, that Maren was not to take the loss of its agents lightly, that Maren's king, when the occasion demanded it, could be a force to be reckoned with. That was easier for them to say than it was to believe. Barnesh had been proud of his intelligence service, justifiably so, for he believed that it was second to none in the Eastern Lands. He had thought that their spies were merely becoming accustomed to their new assignments, which had prevented them from sending back reports as regularly as he would have liked. Barnesh and his spy-masters had been even more disturbed to note that their agents had probably been killed at the same time, done so for maximum dramatic impact, rather than any threat the Imperials felt. 

The other members of the party were beginning to get restless, sure that there was some ulterior motive in making them wait in this spot for the King of Sarain to come and greet them. Barnesh shot a sideways glance at his distant cousin, Lord Samash. He had never particularly liked Samash much, the younger man being altogether too lively for his taste. Samash, a moderately powerful mage, had been married to an aide of the Imperial Diplomatic Service for nearly two years, a young woman who had come as a secretary to the Imperial Ambassador who was sent to Maren. Barnesh noted that his young cousin's loyalties lay far stronger with his new home than his old. While Samash and his wife had been granted a fief close to the Sarain-Maren border, he had shown no indication to his cousin that he was willing to provide any 'information' on Sarain or the Empire as a rule. Samash's wife was not present, and Barnesh was told that Dama Natseyah was currently away on an assignment for the Empress. Barnesh shook his head at that, unable to fathom why a woman should choose to leave her husband for so long on some jaunt that a man could do just as well, or better. However, his cousin did not appear to be particularly disturbed by the turn of events, so Barnesh did not comment on it. 

The slight vibration of many hoofbeats brought him out of his reverie. IN the distance, coming from the direction of the city, was a procession on horseback, bright banners proclaiming the arrival of the Saren King and an impressive entourage. Most of the members of the Saren delegation were in a compromise between military steel and rich Court velvets, managing to look both perfectly confident and comfortable. 

Etiquette demanded that when two kings met under such situations, it should be done with both afoot, as equals, no matter what the disparity in wealth and power. As the visitor, Barnesh knew that he should dismount first, but all the same, could not help gritting his teeth as attendants fussed around him with mounting block and offers to help in the full view of his hosts. He managed to dismount successfully, though even he had to admit, with a certain lack of grace, and clanked forward a few steps before King Yevgen's horse pranced out a few paces to allow his rider space to dismount. 

The first thing that Barnesh noticed was that although King Yevgen's destrier was enormous (fully a hand and half taller than his own), and of excellent breeding, it was a bay, rather than the more regal and unusual cream or black favoured by monarchs. It was also a gelding, rather than a stallion. However, that was soon overshadowed by his rider. 

Barnesh had a vague idea of what he was expecting. A large, muscular, dark-haired man of middle years with a stern expression, possibly due to losing a chance to be Emperor to his sister, a man Barnesh himself would feel comfortable dealing with, a man, he admitted to himself, that Princess – now Queen Kalasin – would not feel easy with. A man, Barnesh hoped, who saw her only as a political means to an end, who ignored her, and left her to her own devices, left her miserable. 

King Yevgen, then, was a rather unpleasant surprise. Barnesh knew that as soon as his contemporary sprang lightly off the destrier without any assistance, and barely a jingle of mail. He wore no helm, so Barnesh could immediately see the simple, diamond-set crown, the blond hair, the handsome face – but most of all, see the youth – King Yevgen could barely be in his twenties. What made Barnesh even more uncomfortable was the apparent ease with which the King wore his elegant half-armour (functional, heavy steel, not Barnesh's own imitation), the way he carried the longsword at his hip, as though it were permanently fixed there, and the sheer confidence with which he carried himself. 

Greetings were exchanged, Barnesh inwardly chiding his own curt, slightly abrupt manner, brought on by surprise, even more when Yevgen proved to be positively eloquent in his address, everything that was polite and courteous in welcoming Barnesh to Sarain, even more aggravating in that Barnesh was made very well aware that Yevgen knew of Barnesh's previous ambitions in the country simply by the tone. 

At length, though the formalities were over, and Barnesh's attendants led his horse over and helped him to mount. Once settled, he noticed that King Yevgen was still on the ground. The younger man gave a small, almost condescending smile to his Marenite counterpart as his horse pranced smartly to his hand, before springing lightly into the saddle without touching his stirrups. 

With a graceful incline of his head, Yevgen indicated that Barnesh was welcome to join him at the head of the procession. Gritting his teeth, the Maren King agreed. 

Barnesh's mood that afternoon went steadily from bad to worse. First, it was the cheering crowds that greeted them. Well, not them, exactly, but the cheering crowds that greeted King Yevgen. Barnesh had never known Saren and K'mir able to exchange civil greetings by letter, but here, a whole city, Saren and K'mir alike, standing side by side, and cheering their Imperial King as he passed. If that wasn't bad enough, it was seeing how obviously prosperous the city itself was, for the people looked well-fed, and happy, and the markets not only had abundances of food, but there were also luxury items, silks, jewels, spices and wine – all doing brisk business. 

Then, of course, Queen Kalasin met them on the steps of the Palace. For all his years of yearning for her and soliciting her hand, Barnesh had never met her in person, only receiving portraits. It was clear that either the portraits, lovely as they were, did not do justice to the original, or that Kalasin's beauty as a woman had far outstripped what she'd had as a girl. 

Barnesh watched with a feeling very close to jealousy or envy as he watched Yevgen dismount fluidly (Barnesh himself needed help again), and walk up the steps to his wife, raising her hand to his lips with an air that was as much true affection as formal salutation. Yevgen performed the introductions, and Barnesh noted that Kalasin did seem to genuinely welcome him to the Palace. He was pleased at that, but when he went to claim her hand in a formal greeting, Barnesh suddenly found that Kalasin was standing to his side, with her husband between them, indicating that they should go in.   
  
  


"I have to give him credit for being able to walk that far," Kalasin said fairly once they managed to get back into their suite. 

Yevgen gave an uncharacteristically inelegant snort. "To tell the truth, I didn't know whether to pity his tailor more or his horse. Poor thing didn't even have enough energy spare to complain – which is very rare for a horse," he added. Yevgen very seldom referred to his abilities as a wildmage unless he told Kally something of interest. 

"Oh, poor Lianne," Kally sat down on a sofa and started to take down the pins that held her hair in a suitably regally uncomfortable style. "Choosing between that and His Royal Insanity of the Copper Isles." 

"Kelvar Gavrillian might have something to say about that," Yevgen told her, leaping over the back of the sofa to sit beside her. He landed with a clang of armour, so he made a face and stood up to start to unbuckle it. After pulling her hair back in a simple plait, Kally helped him with the more difficult pieces. "Caught him the stables the other day after he came back from the western border. He was trying to re-wrap an amber bracelet." He paused, seeing that Kally did not understand the significance. "Amber is the traditional gift offered by members of the Gavrillian House when they want to make their intentions of courtship known to the other party," he explained. "Each House has a slightly different gift. In the old days, when marriages were more – businesslike," he stumbled over the term, remembering the circumstances of their own marriage, "and supposedly arranged between more senior members of one's House, people wanted to make sure that the other person actually liked them before baring one's soul and making an idiot of oneself to one's parents, or other older relations. Gavrillians have never really had that problem – one doesn't try to arrange marriages without knowledge or consent for people who traditionally solve all their problems with the pointed end of a sword - but they joined in the fun. Besides, the older generations couldn't quite resist showing off their cash." 

"I can understand that," Kalasin remarked as he pulled off his mail shirt and hung it neatly on its rack for Callum to clean (Yevgen, like most Imperial knights, took care of his own 'working' arms and armour, but left the ceremonial gear to others). "So…what do you think about it?" 

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Yevgen asked, stripping off the heavy velvet tunic, "Lianne's your sister. Kel's just the younger brother of one of my friends. Besides, the advantages are all on Kel's side." 

"Oh, how so?" 

Yevgen exhaled heavily. "I have a feeling that Lianne has been hinted to him by Rislyn, and that his parents have obviously agreed, or at least not objected. Whether Rad has been told is a moot point – she'll work it out soon enough. Reasons – well, they're Rislyn's reasons. Stronger alliance with Tortall, an opportunity to show Barnesh up – she doesn't like Barnesh much, you see." 

Kally snorted a "Who can?" but then indicated that he should continue. 

"Also internal," Yevgen mused thoughtfully, absently scrunching up the expensive velvet before seeing what he was doing and carefully shaking it out again. "Rislyn will want to have some way to bind the greatest Houses closer to us – it's not easy, considering how strict we tend to be about consanguinity, though she handled it well with Corin – and Gavrillian is actually wealthier than Delmaran in cash terms, but notoriously unhelpful for the society-watchers when it comes to alliances. They've always married for love, regardless of politics. It's a tenuous connection, should it come, between Gavrillian and Delmaran from that match," he conceded, "but in Ris's mind, it's better than none. I'm very glad that I don't have to deal with the Court sharks anymore," he added, as they both collapsed back onto the sofa. 

"How long until it's time to change for dinner?" Kally asked, moving closer. 

"Oh, a few hours," Yevgen turned to face her. 

"And the dinner's set, the entertainment's done, and there aren't any new briefings to deal with. What are we to do in the meantime?" She battered her long eyelashes in a mock query. 

"I'm sure we'll think of something," even old clichés sounded romantic when said in Yevgen's elegant, smooth voice. "Many somethings…"   
  
  


The problem with Lianne's formal dresses were that they were all entirely too flattering for dinner with a garden-variety lecherous old man, much less Barnesh of Maren. Perhaps she was being unreasonably judgmental on the man, but Lianne had watched the formal greetings between the monarchs of Maren and Sarain from an overlooking window, and had not been at all impressed at the Marenite's appearance. She was prepared to admit that most monarchs – with the possible exception of the Emperor Kaddar, the Empress Rislyn, and maybe – just – her parents – would have looked tired, out-of-date, and positively dull next to Yevgen and Kally, but Barnesh took that beyond a joke. Old, flabby, graceless, clumsy – Lianne's critical list trailed on as she endeavoured to find her least flattering gown. Unfortunately, Lianne's mother had exceptionally good taste in clothes, and not one thing in her travelling wardrobe was suitable in that respect. Eventually, Lianne had to settle for a conservatively-cut dress in a warm olive green, unfortunate because it tended to highlight the tones of her skin, eyes and hair. 

As she left the suite where the Tortallans had their rooms, she ran into the last person she wanted the see dressed as she was – no, the second last. Sir Kelvar Gavrillian stopped dead in his tracks when they came face to face, before bowing deeply and offering her a gracious compliment in his beautifully rich, baritone voice. 

Lianne knew she was blushing as she dipped a slight curtsey. It wasn't her fault that Kelvar was so handsome, and had such a dreamy voice. Where his sister's cut-glass vowels and rigidly perfect enunciation created a sense of sophisticated reserve and dignity, Kelvar's baritone drew the listener in, and enshrouded her in chocolate and velvet. 

"I look forward to seeing you at the reception," he was saying once Lianne came back to her senses. "I notice that you've not had a chance to explore the Eastern Gate Markets since their new shipment from the East have come in. Might I present to you this little trinket?" he produced a small box that contained an elegant bracelet made of perfectly shaped amber beads. 

"Thank you, sir," Lianne breathed, looking on in awe as she admired the gift. Then, she forgot to breathe as he gently fastened it around her wrist, his fingers brushing against her (seemingly) throbbing pulse for just a second more than was strictly necessary. She had no idea how long she stood there, before remembering that she should really get to the main banquet hall, and departing. 

Kelvar stood for a few minutes after Lianne disappeared around a corner, and then turned to a familiar voice. 

"That's not nice, Kel," his sister stepped forward silently. "She's facing some fairly dire choices as it is. She doesn't need you to breeze in and steal her heart too." 

"You guessed." It was an observation. "So did I, after I saw that amber merchant in the markets. I mean, there can't possibly be enough profit this far west of the Roof to justify it – unless someone else has other plans. And, of course," he added practically, "he was in the year above yours at the Academy." 

"Rislyn?" 

A small smile. "Who else? I hear and obey the Empress," he quoted the old cliché, so outdated that it was no longer even included in a knight's oath of fealty. "Here I was, thinking that I was finally going to do something dramatic…" 

"It was rather too dramatic, if you ask me," Radanae muttered. 

"I didn't." Kel stuck his nose in the air in a mock-haughty pose. "But once I did come back, and pass through the markets – once it all wore off - I did think about it from more angles that the obvious. I'm five years younger that Davit – and it was his first active assignment too. Anyway, thinking it was something dramatic, I did think it even more strange when the others were replaced, and I got a letter suggesting that I might like a few days leave with you." 

There was a few minutes of silence. They knew each other ( and the Imperial style) sufficiently well not to need to bother with the more superfluous parts of the conversation involving quiet beheadings in side streets and private houses, hinted orders, and the preoccupation of Houses with pedigrees – which their own usually didn't bother with (Rory and Selera were a love match (even though Radanae was biased against Selera, even she had to admit that they were genuinely in love). That they both came from wealthy, powerful families was merely coincidence) 

"Kel…I know this is not strictly professional, but have you really thought about it? It's not the sort of duty that comes within the job description of a Sword. You are much more than that – and you deserve to be happy in your own choices, made with your own free will, not fettered by politics or other considerations. She's very young, and very different to anyone else you've known. You're my brother," she finished, feeling unusually lame in her address, "I don't want you to be miserable." 

"Thank you," he seemed to withdraw, his voice growing more distant, more detached, showing that they had indeed shared years of the same instructors, the same elocution teachers. "I hear and obey the Empress," he repeated the old cliché, before reciting the other part of the archaic oath, "I serve her with mind, with heart, with hands. Her will be wise, her will be just, her will be done." 

He bowed, and left down the marble-floored corridor, boots making precise sounds on the stone. Radanae shook her head as he left. Kel did like Lianne, she was sure of that, and independently of his subtle orders (for Rislyn would never have come right out and said 'go marry Lianne of Conté'). The problem was convincing him of that. And Lianne, come to think of it. It was like Yevgen and Kalasin, only a thousand times worse. For that pair, they were already in love, already married, already friends, already prepared to make a life together. Kel and Lianne had only just met, they were much younger (thought Radanae from the lofty heights of her twenty-two years, conveniently forgetting that Yevgen had been about Kel's age when he'd married), and had the uncomfortable spectre of Lianne's other suitors hanging over them. 

She sighed, feeling another emotional quagmire coming on. Give her another union stop-work over workplace safety, give her another stylistic tantrum from the interior designer, give her anything but the need to interfere in a politically-inspired love-match again. For the first, and only time, she went eagerly into the banquet hall to lock horns with some of the Marenite nobles. It was much more satisfying than her brother's love-life. Interfering with Yevgen was bad enough – and he was only a friend. It was going to be infinitely worse with her brother. Things were going to turn out badly. She just knew it. 

Radanae was so distracted by this, that even had her touch of the Gift been stronger, she would not have noticed a slight ripple behind her as a shield dissolved, revealing Lianne just around the corner, frozen in shock.   
  


_Author's Notes: There are several options that I will now present regarding the Kelvar and Lianne subplot_

_1. They sort out their misunderstandings, fall in love (for real), get married, move to his estates, leaving Barnesh unhappy but too scared to do anything for fear of upsetting Rislyn._   
_2. They don't sort out their misunderstandings, Lianne marries a ridiculously resilient Barnesh, has ten children, everyone's miserable, except Barnesh. Kel goes and gets himself killed on a dangerous assignment on purpose._   
_3. They sort out their understandings too late, Lianne's married to Barnesh, so they have an extra-martial affair after Kel gets himself assigned as Imperial Ambassador to Maren. Barnesh dies of a heart attack (or a stoke – I'm not fussed) when he finds out. Lianne becomes Queen Regent of Maren for her young son (who, astonishingly enough, grows up to look nothing like Barnesh). And they all live happily ever after, because no one dares raise any concerns about the matter._   
_4. Lianne does 'something rash' – read Romeo and Juliet, only Kel's too sensible to go for that sort of thing unless it was constructive. He'll settle for a bad case of depression, a blistering row with his sister, the rest of his family, most of his friends, then have a brief bout with alcoholism, before being transferred out of the Swords on 'medical' grounds, ending his career in complete obscurity in some backwater._   
_5. None of the above_

_Please reply via email, review, or the guestbook on my homepage www.geocities.com/fhwon1. The final decision will be made by the author, and may not necessarily be the one with the most votes, and whichever direction Lianne and Kelvar's story will take will not affect the rest of this story, nor the rest of the characters and their ultimate direction (it took me ages to work out who some of the characters look like – like Lillias, I'm not letting all the hours I should have been writing up pracs go to waste!). There are some hints at the end of 'Kalasin's Betrothal' (including who Lillias is!) about the characters' long-term fates, but that's all I'm saying now!_

_While I'm on the subject of notes, if anyone's at all interested in what my invented characters look like, I present their real-life inspirations (i.e., they don't look exactly like these people, but close enough that they provided me with a starting point. Many of them will need to be suitably age-adjusted, as the majority of my characters are university-undergraduate age, i.e. late teens/early twenties, and some will need a change in hair/eye colour) If any of them are offended, my profoundest apologies_

_Radanae – Saira Shah (journalist) – appears on CNN a lot. Best known for undercover documentaries in Afghanistan, pre and post Sept-11_   
_Rory – Omar Sharif (actor – Lawrence of Arabia, Dr Zhivago) only minus the moustache._   
_Kelvar – Oded Fehr (actor –'The Mummy')_   
_Selera – Catherine Zeta Jones (actress – Entrapment, etc)_

_And yes, before I get outraged emails, I know that all three of the above people roped into being the Gavrillian siblings have very different ancestries (just like the other people I've plonked into the other family groups!), but the Empire is an imaginary place, and most of the so-called 'races' we like to classify people into don't quite fit what the Imperials look like (their aristocratic class (where all the characters are from) 'mix' a lot more than most of our societies tend to – money, power, Gift, Talents, connections – all matter more in their rare arranged marriages than something so insignificant (to them) as ethnicity. It's an idealised world, with no more reality than is strictly necessary to make it marginally plausible). I've just tried to go as close to finding their real-world counterparts as I can._

_Vanaria/Rislyn (they look alike – see 'Kalasin's Betrothal')– Sophia Loren (actress – 'El Cid' for Rislyn, 'Pret-a-Porter' for Vanaria)_   
_Corin – Hugh Jackman (actor –'X-men' – I saw him once on stage in 'Sunset Boulevard')_   
_Kay – Cate Blanchett (actress –'Lord of the Rings')_   
_Yevgen – Jude Law (actor – 'The Talented Mr. Ripley')_   
_Lillias (who will be in the final part of this trilogy) – Liv Tyler (actress –'Lord of the Rings')_   
_Rislyn, Kay, and Yevgen's father looked like Peter O'Toole (actor – 'Lawrence of Arabia') – and no, I didn't think up a name for him._

_Lara – Natalie Portman (actress – 'Star Wars – Episode I)_

_Justinia – Marion Jones (sprinter – Olympics)_

_Hypathia Lansherry (Radanae's boss in 'Kalasin's Betrothal') – Lauren Bacall, or any 1940's movie star, really._   
  



	16. Fallout

  
_Thanks very much for all the feedback, everyone. As you can guess, choice '1' was the resounding winner….but as I said, the most popular isn't necessarily the one that wins (kinda like real elections *grin* - but then again, I live one of the most boringly politically stable places in the world – which, I hasten to add, I am increasing thankful for)…Anyway, thanks for reading this story, and sorry about the delay – combination of heaps of homework and a holiday in Alice Springs/Uluru over Easter._

Fallout 

Only the delicate rap of Kally's fingernails on the fine damask tablecloth betrayed her annoyance with the guest of honour. She only barely stopped herself from glaring when Barnesh knocked over his goblet of Hetgatan merlot, the dark red stain spreading rapidly over the heavy cloth. 

"We'll never get that out," she grumbled softly to Yevgen, whose place setting was conspicuously neat compared to his neighbour's. 

The huge formal dining hall was overflowing with dignitaries, whether Marenite, Tortallan, Saren, K'mir, Doi or Imperial, all enjoying the feast with gusto and varying degrees of delicacy. Lianne sat further down the table, looking uncharacteristically pale between Lady Keladry and Duke Gareth. Kally looked at her sister with concern. Even taking into account Lianne's perfectly understandable discomfort at being minutely examined by the members of the Marenite delegation, the younger Tortallan princess looked distinctly unwell. 

Further down the dias, Dama Radanae Gavrillian observed the proceedings with the bare hint of a perplexed frown between her brows, quickly smoothed to exchange some pleasantry with a Marenite baron. From his table in the main section of the hall itself, Kelvar Gavrillian looked equally perturbed, subtly shooting concerned glances to the dias. Kally was not so naïve to think that he was anxious for his sister's welfare, not when the direction of his gaze was towards Lianne. 

Curious. Very curious. She was somewhat startled to hear King Barnesh's voice ooze over to address her. 

"My compliments on the meal, madam," he said pompously, "everything is quite suitable – for kings! Ha ha." He bellowed at his own joke, spitting dark red wine for a distance of three or four table spaces. 

Yevgen, his own shoulders showing just the slightest hint of tension under the fine cloth, put a restraining hand on top of Kally's whitened knuckles. He kept his level gaze on the Marenite King as he conspicuously took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the almost invisible spots on the front of his tunic. 

Someone tittered. 

Barnesh ignored it was he took another gulp of the wine. "My compliments on the quality of your cellar, Majesty," this time he addressed Yevgen. The younger man inclined his head graciously, and offered some equally insipid remark. With a start, Kally realised what Yevgen was doing. He was allowing Barnesh to become over-confident, to underestimate their abilities. Yevgen was playing his role of the bored, vain, rather arrogant young aristocrat in a tiresome exile to the hilt. Kally would guess that he was thoroughly enjoying it too. With a grin, Kally caught her husband's eye and gave the merest hint of a nod before tossing her head in a motion that made the jewels in her crown sparkle and the back of her neck ache, and engaging their western neighbour in a perfectly airheaded conversation about the Maren court. 

Barnesh, for all his cunning, did not appear to see through the charade. Dinner was as unbearable as such formal functions usually are, and even the best efforts of a small army of chefs in the kitchens did not stop Kally from being extremely relived when it was all over.   
  


"Arrogant little whelp!" Barnesh barely waited for the door to close before letting his attendants know his opinion of the Saren King. 

"Majesty, have a care. There are probably spies in these walls," Most of the intelligence service was justifiably nervous since the 'heads in boxes' incident, and had become rather concerned about security. 

"If there are, that's your problem!" Barnesh snarled, for once letting his impatience and frustration with his counterpart overtake his usually good sense. There was something about King Yevgen that set him on edge, he knew not what. It was something about the younger man's bearing, his utmost confidence, that was so aggravating, even more so than the customary bored, blank look in his eyes. He exhaled heavily as he sprawled on a well-upholstered divan. "Three hours of conversation, and all he made a remark upon was that he preferred merlot to cabernet! And Queen Kalasin wouldn't say a thing about her sister. Wouldn't say a thing that didn't concern fashion. Glad I never got her. Prettiness is all very well, but is completely insupportable without a trace of wit. How those two have survived here for two years is beyond me. I want you all to fan out and talk to the Council. Find out who's really running the place. That way, we'll finally get somewhere!" 

The advisors exchanged wary glances, knowing that there was no arguing with their liege when he was in this sort of mood. The real reason for the discrepancy between the political actions of the Saren royals and their behaviour at the dinner table did occur to more than one Marenite noble, but none of them quite dared to voice it. 

More's the pity, really.   


The Gavrillian siblings slipped away from the function before the after-dinner meaningless chatter. More to the point, Radanae had gone up to her brother and all but dragged him off. Lianne watched with some concern, though it was masked by a sort of studied indifference. She waited until the last Marenite noble had tired to trying to engage her in conversation before she tried to remember the way to Radanae's suite, reasoning that it was the most logical place for them to go for a private conversation. 

Barnesh was pleading the long journey as an excuse to get away from Yevgen and Kally, but Lianne privately thought that it was more likely that he couldn't take any more of the Saren royals acting like bubble-brained idiots. Lianne knew that the Marenite king was proud – perhaps a bit too proud, in the opinion of her godfather Sir Myles – of his intellectual gifts. Considering just how comprehensively any thought of Marenite expansion east had been thwarted, the only thing which would irritate Barnesh more than having his ambitions quashed would be the belief that whoever had prevailed in his place was somehow deficient. Lianne herself didn't think that they were all that convincing – some things are very difficult to hide, and the sort of intelligence that both Kally and Yevgen possessed in spades no amount of acting could quite disguise. However, Barnesh seemed to be convinced, though only because (thought Lianne), it was what he wanted to see, given the initial impressions that both the royals – Yevgen especially presented. Lianne let the slightest grin just touch the corners of her mouth as she recalled the masterful performance of her brother-in-law. Whether it was a skill he'd learned in the Eastern Lands where men with his sort of looks were automatically deemed to be somewhat lacking as far as intellectual gifts went, or a survival skill of the Imperial Courts where any rival claimant to the Diadem who wanted a half-decent life expectancy (never mind ripe old age) had better look unthreatening, she could not decide. The question was moot, though. The result was the same either way. 

Lianne had reached a quiet upper corridor and hesitated, not sure which way to turn. What was she doing anyway? After all, it wasn't as though Kelvar was anything more than a passing crush anyway, she tried to rationalise her attraction to quell the nagging thoughts at the back of her mind. He was handsome, it was true, in a dashing, romantic, slightly exotic fashion (she had spent more time than she cared to admit trying to decide with he looked more Bazhir or northern Cathaki before conceding that he wasn't quite either), and had the most wonderful voice she had ever heard. He wasn't much older than her – Lianne had spent the first night after they'd met calculating the possibilities – he was knighted – which meant he was at least eighteen, and Radanae, his older sister, was slightly older than Yevgen, though born within a year, and Kally was a year younger than Yevgen. It was relatively easy to come up with a fairly narrow range. What really mattered was, of course, he was young enough to be Barnesh's grandson. She then had to tell herself very sternly that no matter how handsome he was, the main reason for the attraction was that he was simply the first new unattached young man he had spent any amount of time with since she was here. 

Her heart sank as she recalled just why he had been spending so much time with her in their short acquaintance. The funny, witty stories, the wry jokes, the seemingly sincere compliments – all were merely his duty. It wouldn't have mattered who she was, he would have been equally charming to any girl at all, if those had been his orders. How could she have been so foolish? He was a complete stranger, and despite appearances, from an alien culture, that had hardly anything in common with Tortall or her neighbours. At least marriage close to home would eliminate that worry. She was so lost in thought that she almost failed to scramble out of the way, and into a dark, secluded doorway of an unoccupied room before she heard the footsteps and soft voices of Kally and Yevgen, deep in conversation. 

"They're all in their wing?" Kally asked. 

"Yes. I've watchers there, and all members are present and accounted for." A pause. "And no, before you ask, there are none around the Tortallans. I hardly think your family's going to creep around and steal the silver. Not that the cutlery _is_ real silver, but we'll leave it at that." 

"Oh?" 

"Tarnishes too easily, and rather a waste of money when you th…" 

"No, not that. Where are the watchers? I haven't noticed any room at all for them when I've been in the guest wings." 

"That's what most architects find the fun bit in castle design. Most of it's just stone walls and gaps to pour boiling oil on uninvited guests – fairly standard stuff. The real creativity comes from putting in passages and spy holes." Yevgen rapidly changed the subject. "Are you sure your sister's up here?" 

"I saw her head this way, and the only person in this wing she knows is Radanae…" 

"And 'Danae dragged her brother off for a sisterly chat after dinner. I think I know. Come on, it's not far. We'll hear them yelling a mile off." 

They moved off, and Lianne followed them down the dimly lit passageway, grateful that the thick wool carpet muffled her steps. 

It wasn't quite a mile, but the Gavrillian sibling's conversation was certainly audible through the thick door. For the barest fraction of a second, Lianne wondered why, if they were members of essentially espionage units, and privy to a lot of sensitive material, they were shouting quite so loudly – until she realised that it wasn't in any language she recognised, but one which appeared to be made up almost entirely of consonants. 

Kally jumped slightly as someone began bellowing. "What are they saying?" she whispered to Yevgen, who shrugged. "Beats me." 

She looked at him. 

"What? Common might very well be the most er – common – language in the known world, but it's not the only one. Selanpoi," he nodded at the closed door, "is an almost extinct language from their home province – for pretty good reasons, I have to admit. There are eight different tonal inflections, seventeen tenses, three genders – don't ask – of nouns and adjectives, _all_ the verbs are irregular, and it has a writing system composed of three alphabets and ideograms. The Service and the Swords like to use a simplified version as a code because the language's almost impossible to learn properly unless one has lived there for years, and it's spoken in such a small region there that anything from there is reasonably easy to trace. They," he meant the Gavrillians, still apparently going at it hammer and tongs behind the door, "are fluent only because they were literate in the language before they arrived at the Academy and could keep up their reading." 

"Should we knock?" Yevgen shook his head at Kally's question. 

"It's clear that Lianne's not in there, and it's equally clear that our contribution to the conversation won't be welcome. Perhaps she's gone back to her quarters." 

"Perhaps," Kally said doubtfully, as they moved away. "Yevgen…you know what you said the other day …about how there might be other things affecting Kelvar being here and courting Lianne …do you think he would…do that…if he didn't at least like her, out of duty." 

"It's hard to say," Yevgen took a deep breath. "There aren't anywhere near as many Swords as most people think. They're all rather … unique…people. To a certain extent, they're the cream of the knightly crop, so to speak, and they are those whose loyalty to the Empress and the Diadem are completely unquestioned. On the other hand. He is a Gavrillian, and they used to be one of the main rival Houses before the beginning of the Empire. They're famous for doing whatever they please, regardless of what other factors there may be. But in answer to your question – well, I can't really – I didn't know Kel terribly well when we were at the Academy, and I haven't seen him since."   
  
"She's probably just taken the long way back to her rooms," Kally took a look around, missing Lianne who was in the shadows between a heavy curtain and an doorway. "We should get some sleep. Aren't you beating up Marenite knights tomorrow?" 

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten. Thanks. Do you think I should do it quickly, or drag it out?" So, discussing the next morning's bout (which, from notes offered by the relentlessly cheerful Lord Samash (who didn't like his cousin), was probably going to be a dim day for the flower of Marenite chivalry), they continued down the corridor, heading for their own quarters. 

Lianne stayed in the shadows for a few more moments, before deciding that it was time to go. There was nothing to be achieved in skulking around the Imperial Envoy's room, and her friends were probably missing her. She sighed as she detached herself from the wall, then reproached herself for being so silly. As she moved, though, the door opened as she turned into the corridor proper only to run head-first into the solid wall that was Kelvar Gavrillian's chest. 

"Your Highness!" he sounded dreamy even when he was off guard, thought Lianne sourly. 

"What a pleasant surprise to see you here," he continued, "may I escort you upon your way?" 

She almost gave in. Almost. 

"No, I'll be perfectly fine. After all, I'm quite sure you have _duties_ and _orders_ that must be far more important that simply being _polite_ to me." 

She guessed that he was clever enough to read between the lines, and if the momentary shock in his eyes was any indication, he was. 

"Your Highness," he repeated with a slightly perplexed frown, "if I have offended you in any way, might I tender my most profound apolo…" 

"No…don't call me that. In fact, don't call me anything at all!" the words spilled out of Lianne's mouth with her barely being aware that they were doing so, "you…you had no right. I 've got my responsibilities, and they're no less important than yours. What makes you think you can just drop in here and complicate things so much? Did you think that I'd fall swooning at your feet with a few charming words and a trinket?" she tore off the amber bracelet and threw it at his feet. "I've been nothing but a pawn my whole life. My parents are about to bundle me off to some disgusting low life with no table manners. I don't need complete strangers to do the same thing too!" she pushed past him and walked very quickly down the corridor, whether it was to her room or no, she didn't care. She would get there eventually, and when she did - well…a long, hot bath certainly wouldn't go amiss, and then sleep, peaceful, restful sleep, where broken hearts and shattered dreams wouldn't scurry through her mind. It would be better in the morning. 

It certainly couldn't get worse.   
  
  


"She knows?" Radanae stuck her head out the door. 

"She knows." Kel repeated, picking up the scattered beads one by one and examining them in the half-light. 

"Ah. Well. I suppose this changes everything. Nothing to be done at this hour, though. Have another cup of the_ kwstñlp_, and get some sleep. We'll sort it all in the morning. Oh, and Kel? Don't worry, your table manners are excellent."   



	17. Distractions from the Point

Distractions from the Point

There was a brief flurry of steel, and the sound of someone landing heavily on the packed sawdust and earth of the practice court. It was a sound heard all over in any self-respecting castle, though it was not giving King Barnesh of Maren any joy. Not when it was members of his guard connecting with the ground with alarming frequency. 

He had overheard the friendly challenges between his own younger knights and members of the Tortallan, Imperial, Saren and K'mir warrior clique, and, curious, had secured this balcony above the practice grounds where he could observe the bouts without himself being observed in turn. What he found did not please him at all. He was hardly blind to the fact that Maren's own military prowess came more from the size of its armies and the mercenaries his gold could buy than any spectacular martial skills among his soldiers, but this pathetic display was well beyond even his worst nightmares. They had managed only one victory so far in the unusually crisp morning, but that was hardly encouraging – the Imperial officer in question had fought with one arm bound behind his back. 

Barnesh was in a particularly foul mood, not helped by the observation that his bed in the guest quarters was easily as comfortable as the one back home, and that an ample, appetising breakfast had arrived mere minutes after his valet had called for it. He knew that the Imperial spy networks were good – the efficient dismantling of his own was more than adequate proof of that – but they really didn't have to rub it in his face by presenting all his favourite teas and coffees, and the eggs done exactly as he liked them. He gave an irate shake of his head as he turned his attention back to the practice field as yet another one of his bodyguard landed in a cloud of dust, a female K'mir irregular's sword at his throat. It was then he noted that absence of King Yevgen on the practice field. Curious. One would have expected a young man who so obviously wanted to present the image of a warrior king to be conspicuous on the practice field, even if only to swing a few blunted swords around and bout a few guards who would deliberately lose to him. Very curious. Barnesh wondered if he could have some of his aides find out more about the matter.   
  
  


"Are you all right?" Kally's vision cleared to Yevgen kneeling next to her, concern etched in his face and deep worry in his eyes. 

He was only half dressed. Kally had heard him just out of the corners of her consciousness, arguing with Callum as to what he should wear on the practice court. Usually it was just the first thing he found in his dressing room – his usual impeccable standards of dress did not apply until after practice – but this morning, he was planning to humiliate Marenite chivalry, and one couldn't do that in just any old tunic. The smile that played idly at the very edge of her mouth, however, was swiftly overcome by a wave of nausea as she tried to sit up. She only just made it to the basin in the bathroom in time, not even bothering to throw on a robe. 

He was holding a glass of water and a towel. Callum hovered anxiously in the background, arms still full of clothes (Yevgen's wardrobe, to put it frankly, could easily clothe a small village through a Saren winter), and asking if he should fetch Mariella, Kally's personal maid. A corner of her mind that was on inconsequential things wondered if she should mind the valet seeing her in the nude before she sensibly reminded herself that he had probably done so many times before, when he woke Yevgen up for early morning starts. 

She shook her head at Callum's offers of assistance, but accepted the water gratefully, croaking that she was fine. Yevgen's brows knitted. "No you're not." He refuted. "You hardly drank a thing last night – and you never get hangovers anyway." 

"I'm fine," Kally insisted. 

"If you say so," Yevgen still looked doubtful. "Perhaps some breakfast…" 

He didn't get to finish the sentence, as Kally dived for the basin again. The very thought of food was enough to make her gorge rise. 

"That's it," Yevgen said decisively, "Callum, can you fetch Mariella, please? And get the Healer in here while you're at it." Decisively ignoring Kally's protestations, he swept her up in his arms and dumped her rather unromantically onto their bed, then sat at the foot, a tiny smile that Kally thought was realisation. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

He did not say anything, but held up a hand. A moment of concentration brought the glow of his Gift, bright, clear ultramarine. Perplexed, Kally met his palm with hers, the darker sapphire glow of her aura mingling with his. She let him gently tug their hands down lower, to rest on her abdomen. Her eyes widened, as she counted back days and met Yevgen's eyes in shock, just as the faintest glow of silvery blue threaded through their intertwined figures.   
  


Mariella was the soul of discretion, but, in true predictable fashion, her best friend was the Palace gossip. So, after tendering her congratulations to her mistress, and being given leave to convey the good news to the rest of the staff, news of the Queen's pregnancy quickly spread through the stone corridors like naphtha, so that by the end of the day, it had travelled not only through the capital, but was on the way to all reaches of the known world. (Radanae muttered some very nasty swear words when she noted the number of unexpected pigeons, and ordered the hawks to be let out, before heading down to the house the best 'aides' had rented to give them an earful about vigilance and complacency.) 

As he descended the stairs to the practice courts, the King of Sarain pondered that he'd be deliriously happy if the postal service proved to be even one-tenth as fast as the gossip chain. It was clear that the news had preceded him, for he was greeted with a round of rapturous congratulatory applause (and no few bawdy jokes about the time it had taken). He brushed them aside, a little embarrassed, though also flattered, and then promptly accepted the challenge from the head of Barnesh's guard for a few friendly passes with the longsword. 

Barnesh's mood went from bad to worse as he saw his Captain of Guards laid on the packed earth in two minutes flat, testimony that the Saren King's muscles weren't achieved by lifting weights and swinging exercise clubs. However, what was quite perplexing was the applause that had greeted him as he had entered the exercise grounds – even from Barnesh's own Guard – so it wasn't the sort of applause that subjects used to give a monarch an inflated sense of their own importance. 

"Get down there and find out what they were cheering about," he ordered an anonymous aide. The man was back barely thirty seconds later. 

"Well?" Barnesh demanded. 

"They're cheering the heir to the Saren throne," the aide said neutrally. 

"Heir? There is no heir yet," Barnesh muttered dismissively, but then realised what he said as his man answered the question. 

"Well, your Majesty may need to send a birthday present to him or her in a few months' time." 

It was only after he had dismissed the man that Barnesh noticed his fingers gripping tight around the stonework, enough to make his knuckles white, but not enough to make any sort of impression on the stone. He thought of Kalasin, Jewel of the Easter Lands, so close…oh so close to his hand only a few short years ago. He wanted to weep. Kalasin, now no more than a brood mare, wasted on that insufferable, arrogant callow youth who was presently throwing his knights ten feet across the practice courts.   
  


It was the only news that could shake Lianne out of her Kelvar-Gavrillian-inspired doldrums. "I'm going to be an aunt! Again!" and then, to her horror, she squealed. Both Conté princesses looked at each other in shock, then began to laugh as Lianne threw her arms around her older sister. "I'm so happy for you! You are happy, aren't you?" she asked anxiously, thinking that even though Kally liked her husband very much, there was still no denying the political pressure upon her to get pregnant quickly, whether she wanted to or not. 

"Of course I am…just…surprised, that's all." She paused to laugh again, "though I don't know why I should be…I mean, just a few weeks ago I was surprised that I wasn't!" 

"I'm so excited for you!" Lianne bubbled, aware that it was the first time she'd done so for years. "Have you thought of any names?" 

"No…not really…" Kally had to admit, "we've just agreed that we won't go reusing any names of dead relatives – or live ones for that matter. We've an astounding lack of creativity in both our families as it is – we don't want to add to the confusion." 

"Oh, well, never mind. They'll be stunning, no matter what you wind up calling him-her. Can't be otherwise, with Prince Gorgeous there," 

Kally swatted her younger sister mock-reproachfully, then sobered. "I was going to come to talk to you this morning anyway, Lia. Yevgen and I had a talk yesterday. I notice that you're spending a lot of time with Kelvar Gavrillian…" 

"No chance of that anymore," Lianne interrupted with more heat than she perhaps intended, "I should have known from the start. Your sister-in-law's apparently 'suggested' to him that he should pay me that attention. You know that …" she shot accusingly, as she saw the expression of her elder sister's face, trying not to give away the fact that she had eavesdropped. 

"Yevgen guessed," Kally corrected. "I had wanted to tell you before – but…" 

"But what?" 

"I wanted to talk it over with Yevgen first – I mean, there's still so much about etiquette and all that I don't know…I wanted to know whether he was simply being polite or…" 

"Or?" Lianne drew the question out, trying to seem only politely interested. 

"I don't know!" Kally threw her hands up and began to pace. "I mean, there are times that I simply have no idea where Yevgen's coming from – and not just because he's him. They're very different in Bersone," she informed her younger sister unnecessarily, "Court manners are very formal – almost ritualised – and even the slightest nuance has its own complex meaning, and for most of the knights, it's second nature, but for me – it means that sometimes I'll have no idea about things that seem obvious to them. Admittedly, too, I think that's why most of the knights I know spend as much time as their careers will allow away from court. But back to the point – yes, Yevgen was suspicious. Dalliances are common, but lasting romances are rare among the younger knights. Apparently hardly anybody – that is, among the knights – tends to form serious attachments until their late twenties. The few that do – well – are the ones who have been 'dallying', as he puts it, since their days at the Academy. It's highly unusual – and, apparently, against all training – for any of them to simply rush into an infatuation as quickly as he seemed to when he arrived here." 

Lianne tried to appear detached, but no matter how gently Kally tried to break it, she was increasing aware of just how unlikely it was that Kelvar had liked her, even a little bit, for herself. For a second, last night, when Yevgen had noted that Gavrillians were peculiar – she had let her dreams get the better of her. The dreams that had danced in her mind for a few, happy, floating days when she had allowed herself to hope…no, that was too much. She had learned her lesson. 

Two years around Imperials had taught Kally even more about reading body language than her own years of observation at the Tortallan court, so she knew that Lianne badly needed something, anything, to cheer her up. "That's what most knights are like," she finished, "but Yevgen has intimated that Gavrillians are a little different. They're trained as strategists even before they can read, and tend to take a very long view on things. Sometimes that means the things they do – aren't quite what they seem." Kally concluded awkwardly. To tell the truth, she hadn't really been paying attention to Yevgen's exposition on the subject of the House of Gavrillian in their rooms the previous night. Not when there were much more enjoyable things to do.   
  


"What are you doing?" Radanae asked as soon as she entered her brother's room. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Kelvar snapped, folding up a shirt and throwing it into the travelling trunk lying open in the middle of the floor. "I'm crawling home, that's what. The whole side-show with Lianne was an absolute disaster." 

"There is that," his sister shrugged negligently. Nothing quite irritated him more than her standard defence mechanism of casualising things, and nothing quite managed to stir him into action quite as effectively. They both knew it, too. "But you've never been one to walk away from a fight." 

"This is different. It's not a fight…it's …I don't know. More than that. It's…well, it's about my life. I don't even know if I like her for real!" he complained, getting away from the subject. "She's nothing like anyone back home. I have no idea what she's thinking, and sometimes her perspective on things is simply baffling." 

Raised eyebrows meant that Radanae was interested in those revelations, though she said nothing about them. Instead, she challenged him, "So, just because one little hinted suggestion from Rislyn isn't going the way you want, it's not reason to pack to whole thing in. Forgive me if I pry, but I do know that there were other, more explicit hints in there." 

The tunic slid from his hands unnoticed to the floor as he turned to face her. 

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I know. Perhaps you will decide that you like her, perhaps not. But it would be more important to prevent the Conté-Maren match, don't you think? Tusaine keeps both Tortall and Maren on its toes. With an alliance between them, and Tusaine already in shambles, someone is going to spring on the bright idea of annexing it, and you can guess what problems that's going to bring with Galla and Tyra that we simply don't need. And of course," she added as a afterthought, "preventing something as strong as the Conté Gift from getting into the Marenite line. They're Gifted as it is – though it's less volatile – they certainly don't need the Conté Gift there. It would practically negate getting Kalasin over here. Besides," she watched her brother's eyes carefully, "it would be a crying shame for someone as nice and pretty as Lianne to end up with that disgusting fat lecher. She deserves someone worthy of her, even if you don't think that you're that someone." 

After a second, Kel began unpacking the trunk and replacing his things in the wardrobe.   
  
  


Barnesh gritted his teeth through the celebrations of the impending arrival of the Saren heir. Queen Kalasin had finally appeared in the Great Hall, looking flushed and happy, and had immediately gone to her husband's side – he who still managed to look perfectly groomed despite thoroughly wiping the floor with Barnesh's entire bodyguard. Barnesh wanted to get the trade negotiations over with, and he wanted to go home, to wait for the arrival of Princess Lianne as his Queen – for he was already certain that he would be the suitor picked. 

If her beauty didn't quite have the eye-catching luminosity of her elder sister, Barnesh thought that she still suitable as Queen and mother of his heirs. He had studied Lianne of Conté during the previous evening's dinner, and though that she seemed a quiet, demure young lady, schooled in the feminine arts. He didn't hold with the new modern fashion of noblewomen joining the ranks of warriors, though he took care not to mention it during this visit. While the Saren lowlanders shared his attitude, the same could not be said of the new Imperial overlords. Fully a third of the knights were female, likewise the K'mir fighters who were rather astoundingly prevalent among the castle garrison. No, Barnesh thought, his Queen would never be one of those shocking women, but a woman of grace and dignity. So engrossed in his imaginings of a girl he had never spoken to, he managed of offer is congratulations to the Saren royals without once screwing up his face in disappointment.   
  
  


"Lovely woman," the Imperial Envoy remarked pithily to Barnesh's Chief-of-Staff as they stood off to the corner. They were discussing Lianne. "Yes, perfectly lovely woman, Queen Kalasin is extremely close to her sister." 

"I can see that they're very affectionate," the man floundered. Radanae almost took pity on him. 

"I believe she's an extremely talented equestrienne and trains all her own horses," she observed lightly, sipping her wine. She had no idea if the latter half was true or note, though it was true that Lianne was fond of horses. She was enough of a wildmage to have a reasonable conversation with Luana, though she had more difficulty communicating with strange animals. Never mind, though, Luana was the equine equivalent of a gossip anyway. 

Count Hilarion's eyes widened, just as she thought they would. Radanae knew that she was on the right track. "I hear that she's spent some time training with her mother's pet cavalry unit…" she trailed off. It was enough. The Count spluttered an old excuse and then escaped to hold a whispered conversation with some other members of the Marenite delegation. 

Radanae looked on with some satisfaction. It would give her some time – not much, but some – to discover just how much that Lianne had learned – and more importantly – how to counter it. 

Proofreading treaties for commas was starting to look very attractive.   
  
  
  



	18. Paths Taken, Choices Made

Roads Taken, Choices Made

"…very beautiful, of course. We have similar mountains in Maren, near my summer palace – or should I say, _one_ of my summer palaces, for I have several…" Lianne plastered a false smile on her face to hide her clenched teeth. While both her sister and father had referred to Barnesh as a wily negotiator with an intelligence not to be underestimated, it was clear that he was not paying her the compliment of using it in the conversation. 

Being trapped in a conversation with the Marenite King was even worse than she had imagined. He treated her as though she were an imbecile, or, even worse, a child. It only highlighted the huge age difference between them. Unwillingly, thoughts of the conversations she'd had with Kelvar Gavrillian swirled through her mind, far more preferable than Barnesh's continued ramblings. How he'd treated her like any other young woman his own age – well, perhaps a tad more politely, and with a good deal more grace and deference – but still, he seemed to respect her opinions, and listened politely to her views before putting forward his own. What difference did it make, between all the other political matches she had before her and Kelvar? None of them were interested in her. All saw the Conté name, and her father's gold. 

The difference was that the others made no secret of that. No matter how many rich gifts, no matter how many gallant emissaries, they made it clear that it was alliance with Tortall they wanted, and the hand of its younger princess was merely a more personal way to seal the bargain. Kelvar had pretended that he truly like her for herself, and his lie was what it truly reprehensible. If he had come, the way Yevgen had come for Kally, nearly two years ago, openly, she would have been overjoyed. She stole a look at the pair of them, accepting the congratulations of the Gallan Ambassador and his wife. Lady Jaquina went so far as to offer a good-luck charm dedicated to a minor goddess from her home region, the Green Lady, for Kally's safe pregnancy. It appeared that even Galla wanted the Saren succession secured – though Lianne knew her brother-in-law well enough by now to know that the charm would be passed through the hands of every able mage he knew and trusted before it would be allowed anywhere near Kalasin for an extended period of time, and that Kally herself would never know. 

Lianne tried to hold back a sigh as she saw how obviously happy Kally and Yevgen were together. Even their collective air-head and muscle-bound-idiot display that was fooling no one except Barnesh himself (he was curiously thick about that, even after a day of hard-driven negotiations) could not quite disguise their real affection for each other. 

Kelvar himself was in a conversation with some young Marenite knights. From the miming going on, they were discussing relative merits of two-handed as opposed to one-handed swords. Once, she though she saw him look her way, but by the time she could take a second glance he had already turned away. 

"…the wildflowers are truly splendid, though they are but a poor reflection on your Highness's beauty…" Barnesh was still not saying anything of interest, so Lianne took the liberty of scanning the rest of the room. 

Keladry was where she so often was these last few days, adopted again by the young Imperial knights. Lianne thought guiltily that she had all but ignored her friend, in favour of the other Kel. Buri was catching up with over twenty years of missed K'miri gossip. Alanna and George were no where to be seen, and Uncle Gareth was talking about some old, nearly-forgotten battle with some elderly Marenite and Gallan diplomats. 

"If I may steal my sister away from your company, Majesty?" Like a gift from the gods, Yevgen's voice penetrated the stifling banality of Barnesh's monologue. If Lianne didn't think her brother-in-law's voice quite as romantic as a certain other person's (it was rather more clipped and no-nonsense), she was still very grateful for his interference. She was starting to wonder if it would be a diplomatic incident if she accidentally pushed the Maren King through a plate glass window. 

"You looked like you needed rescuing," Yevgen whispered without moving his lips as soon as they were out of earshot. "Either that or you were about to commit justifiable homicide." 

"Thank you," Lianne said sincerely. 

"Kally's stuck talking nursemaids with Lady Jaquina. I thought I'd better leave before I made a fool of myself." 

Lianne cocked her head slightly, a trifle surprised. From what she had seen, Imperial males didn't appear to have the same pompous disregard for childcare as most men from the Eastern lands, and Yevgen was probably considerate even by their standards. 

Yevgen appeared to misinterpret. "Too scared that I'd burst out laughing at her gown. Has anyone ever told that woman that her skin's far too sallow for magenta? And what was she thinking with the orange turban?" 

Lianne blinked very hard at her brother-in-law, ferocious knight and fashion critic. It was not something that she had expected. She stole a glance at his deep burgundy velvet, noting that it not only suited him very well but complimented Kalasin's dark rose. There was a tiny smile just hovering around the edges of his mouth as he studied Lianne's rather shell-shocked expression. "Now, for another reason for my kidnapping you this evening. I don't believe that you've made the acquaintance of Dama Natseyah Q'ok?" he motioned to a woman in her mid-to-late twenties, not tall, but possessed of a lively, quick manner who stepped forward from a small crowd of Imperial knights and bowed. 

Lianne recognised the name – Dama Natseyah was married to a cousin of Barnesh's, Lord Samash, largely regarded as the only Marenite royal with a sense of humour. However, even though he was on the short-list of many a noble parent for their daughters, he was hampered in his offers by an embarrassment of funds. Samash took matters into his own hands some two years ago by marrying Natseyah, a junior diplomat and functionary. Natseyah was about Lianne's height, and of similar built – small by Imperial standards, a few inches shorter than Radanae Gavrillian, who was always complaining about her lack of height (the average male knight was about six feet tall – and most female knights came within a few inches of that). Lianne was spared the curiosity of the reason for the introduction as Natseyah made it abundantly clear. 

"Their Majesties and my husband tell me that you are very fond of riding," the older woman said. 

Lianne answered in the affirmative. 

"They believe that since the enjoyment of a ride is very much diminished by the over-enthusiastic presence of bodyguards, that one should be able to reduce the number of guards, and increase the distance between you and them. However, in this part of the world, security would dictate otherwise, unless one is reasonably adept in the noble art of staying alive," a twinkle in Natseyah's eyes indicated that she was no where near as pompous as her speech sounded. "Since, of course, your stay with us is of regrettably short duration, I have been asked to show you some self-defence techniques that you may find useful that you may not yet be familiar with, by virtue of my being a desk knight rather than a soldier, and a similar height and build to your highness. If you like, I should be very glad to meet you in the practice courts tomorrow morning before breakfast…"   


Barnesh was otherwise occupied for the rest of the evening, with a never-ending stream of those wishing to talk politics and trade. Hence, Lianne was very grateful that it left no time for him to attempt to bore her again. It made her less than grateful – to her parents – for making no secret that he was politically the best match. A callous, cynical side to her thought that perhaps he was the best shot of the three on the shortlist. The eldest, she could hope he died shortly after the wedding and left her a very wealthy widow – possibly a regent. However, the latter would require that she actually have a child with him, a possibility even the stoic princess in Lianne simply would not consider. Children born of a political alliance were all very well when the father was – say – young, handsome, intelligent, considerate and – Lianne grinned slightly – very well dressed. However, Barnesh was none of those things – intelligence didn't count if he didn't think it worth using on Lianne. Kally seemed to be a trifle irritated with the continuing flow of stale compliments and congratulations, but nothing could quite hide her genuine pleasure at her situation. 

Lianne couldn't even comprehend being even mildly content at a similar situation.   
  


The older guests were starting to take their leave, though the younger ones would still linger, flirting and dancing into the small hours of the morning. 

"I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to talk to you all evening, Lia," Kally said apologetically, sinking into a cushioned chair. 

"That's fine. I mean, I don't think I could have got a word in edgewise. Are you feeling alright? You look tired." 

"I am tired. Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure – don't look at me like that young lady, 'sleeping together' does have a literal element to it." 

"Oh, am I that obvious?" 

"Yes, especially after you've been talking to Barnesh half the evening." 

"There is that." Lianne was quiet, and Kally was aware that she'd put her foot in her mouth. 

"I'm going upstairs. Do you want to come? I don't think you've seen my rooms yet." Lianne followed her elder sister mutely up the grand staircase. Yevgen was still visible on the reception room floor, enduring a conversation with some Gallans. He turned and bowed to them as they left the room, but continued talking.   


"The Marenite delegation is leaving soon," Kally remarked, "all the necessary negotiations regarding Sarain and the Empire finished this afternoon, and all the usual fripperies of a State Visit have been dispensed with." She opened the door to her inner apartments – they had passed through the dining rooms and sitting rooms that Lianne had already seen. 

The first thing that Lianne noticed was that the room was largely open-plan, one huge space with smaller dressing rooms to either side, a bathroom on one side, and an empty room on the other. "Nursery," Kally informed her. There was a huge curtained bed on the far side of the room, but the sisters sat down on comfortable chairs placed near the fireplace at the front of the room. 

"I don't like Barnesh at all," Lianne said softly, not looking anywhere in particular. "He makes my skin crawl, and he treats me as though I'm stupid." She sat up straight and looked her sister directly in the eye. "But I have to do it, don't I?" her voice was challenging. 

"You have other choices," Kally tried to find a bright point. 

"Oh yes. Copper Isles maniac, Gallan nonentity. I suppose I could always run off and become a Priestess, or better yet, a Shang." She paused gloomily, not even being able to keep up her sarcasm for long. 

"I saw you talking with Dama Natseyah earlier," Kally said into the silence. "Do you like her?" 

"Yes, very much," Lianne said honestly about the knight. "She's…I don't know…a little more…_real_ than most of the Imperials. Oh…I don't mean that…well, it's just that everyone else is nice, and charming, and witty and all…but they don't give much of themselves away. It's like they're always on their best behaviour, and no-one's allowed behind the mask. Natseyah – well, she's engaging, more outgoing, less formal than the others – I don't really know why – I mean, she speaks the same way the others do…" 

"I found that too," Kally tried to reassure her sister, "even Yevgen – I mean, it was ages before he actually let his guard down enough for me to feel like I was actually talking to him." 

Lianne grimaced at the further reminder of her brother-in-law. Not that she disliked him – quite the opposite, in fact – but that it was all too clear that she would never have the sort of happiness that Kally had found. For a few days…never mind. Better not to dwell on paths that could never be taken. However, it was months until MidWinter. She could, at least, enjoy what little time she had left before she made the choice that had long since been made for her. Just a little time to spend with her sister, a little time among her mother's people. A little time to allow herself to dream of what might have been.   
  


"Pardon?" Lianne couldn't quite believe her ears. 

"I said, which are you most familiar with? Best to start with what you know." There were already quite a few on the practice courts, mainly Imperials and the odd K'mir. Lianne had assumed that the self-defence lesson was mainly unarmed, emergency tricks to get her out of a tight spot. Instead, Natseyah ( or 'Nat' as she insisted on being called) had shown her an impressive array of weaponry and asked her to pick which one she knew how to use best. Since she couldn't recognise half of the weapons on display, it was rather by default that she picked a plain, slender shortsword, the type favoured by the more athletic of her mother's Ladies. Unlike Kalasin, Lianne had never had any burning military ambitions, so while she knew which end of sword to hold and which direction to point an arrow, she was never particularly interested in martial arts. 

"Good, good," Nat was saying, looking at Lia with approval. "Have you had a few stretches? Yes? Good, shall we have a little warm up so we can see where we can start?" 

Nat walked out of the armoury to the open practice court, and waited for Lianne to follow. The Tortallan princess could have sworn that the older woman's boots scuffed out a mark on the sawdust, but it was too obliterated to confirm. Nevertheless such details were soon shoved to the back of her mind as she was too busy trying to fend off the attack from Dama Natseyah's blade.   
  


Barnesh looked on in all astonishment, Count Hilarion beside him muttering "That was what I was trying to tell you last night. She might very well be one of the most eligible, but might I state that Tortallan women of her generation are not at all suitable for the rank of Queen of Maren?" 

Barnesh's eyes narrowed slightly as he examined the two figures below them, still trading blows. Something wasn't making sense – or rather it was making too much sense. It was all just a little bit too tidy, a little bit too neat. The question was, who was planning it? From his conversation last evening, Lianne was a polite, graceful young woman, but he saw no evidence of any cunning or scheming, much to his pleasure. However, that didn't mean that others weren't capable of it. King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin might not have a thought in their heads beyond fine clothes and fast horses, but there were some wily minds around Court. They were to be in Sarain only a few more days. That did not leave him enough time to decipher the complex games being played. He considered, then discarded the possibility of involvement from the Imperial Envoy. True, the woman did have a talent for verbal gymnastics, and appeared to have some wit, but Barnesh had seen her kind before. Overindulged, overeducated, wealthy, and bored, like many an indolent heir from a powerful family she was probably sent to this part of the Empire as a sort of quasi-exile, to keep her out of trouble. "Princess Lianne will do very well as Queen," he cut off the noble curtly, "she will no longer wish to behave in such an unseemly fashion as my wife." 

Count Hilarion shot a doubtful look at his monarch's turned back, but said nothing.   


Natseyah broke off from the last exchange, and bowed. "You're better than I though you would be, Highness. You've natural speed and your reflexes are extremely good. If you have time, we can begin with basic counters for grabbing and we can move onto attempted garrotting and stabbing…." 

Lianne didn't notice Nat's eyes flicker up to the upper balcony, nor the very fleeting smile of definite satisfaction.   
  


A soft slither as a wall panel slid aside. "Damn." Radanae did not sound at all pleased. "I had hoped that last night and Nat's little display with Lianne this morning would buy us a little more time, but it appears that the old lecher's …er…heart is set." She deliberately changed the part of anatomy she was going to refer to after a glance at Kel's definitely irate expression. She looked critically at her brother. "Nat brought back the confirmations and alternatives from Ris," she told him as they slipped inside her soundproofed chambers, guaranteed not to have listening posts (the wide gaps in the walls were a feature only in one guest wing – the one the Marenites were in – others would have to rely on more sophisticated hiding places). 

"Oh?" Kel pretended disinterest as he fastidiously removed a speck of dust from his shirt. 

"Have you done that research? How many between?" 

"One." He informed his sister, stretching. "And will be ordained a priest, and so ineligible, by autumn. Others are related through the female line, and are so disqualified." 

"Good. Very good. However, time is on our side – haste will make it worse for us. He is an old man. There are plenty of opportunities even before Midwinter, and there will be many after." 

"Do you think it will have to be done?" Kel asked, "and it's a question for the diplomat and envoy, not Radanae Gavrillian the not-so-normal human." 

"Something will need to be done eventually," she replied, poking her tongue out in a childish gesture. "We cannot let things continue as they have been. Urrcin and Tonrinl are heating up again, seeing how much leeway Ris is allowing him on the border." She paused. "The other issue is resolved too. It passed through Council and Senate the day before Nat left." 

Kel smiled. "Wonder how Evie's going to react," 

"It won't really make much difference," Radanae said practically, "save for the cartographers, but it's too big to be ignored now. That should put paid to the rumours about Ris and Evie and their supposed falling out. Well, never mind." She shook her head, and went to the desk to scrawl a coded message. "Have them send this out to the operative in the Maren Palace. This will take a good deal of planning…and see if you can get…let's see…Yelizabeta, and Muzan, I think, they should be the best." Another pause. "It's be at least four months. We may need to run this from Bersone after the building's finished, so it doesn't look too suspicious. Don't look like that, you know that it would be strange for me to stay that long. Do you think that's enough time for you to make up your mind about Lianne?"   
  


The Marenite delegation headed back westwards for home a few days later, Barnesh bidding farewell to the Saren royals with less-than-sincere good wishes for their health, and the health of their impending heir, and a more-than-sincere wish, not expressed, but clearly communicated, never to see them again. He also bid not so much a farewell, but rather a leave-taking to Princess Lianne, expressing a wish to see her at Midwinter, broadly hinting at his expectation that she should chose him as favoured suitor. 

Lianne watched him go, her mind made up. She knew what she was getting into. A wealthy, elderly, not particularly pleasant person, irksome and condescending, but at least she knew who he was. There may have been others – superficially more charming, certainly more handsome, that she would be even more unhappy with eventually, having rushed into the matter with them, never having an inkling of their true nature. No, even though Lianne was sure her sister had intended nothing of the kind, a few sisterly chats with Kally had driven her to the final decision. She would not sigh mournfully for months, like her sister had, desperately hoping for love to be returned from someone who merely treated her with courtesy and friendship out of duty. 

Come winter, she would head east to Maren to marry Barnesh.   
  
  
  
  



	19. Of Princesses and Kings

Of Princesses and Kings  
  
Sir Myles of Olau read one report, frowned, then read another. Most were from his operatives in Maren, and were several weeks out of date, one was from his lone operative in western Sarain. He could almost feel the man's fear radiating out of the page, and he was one of the most competent agents Myles had, completely unfazed by anything he had previously seen, one who had, two years ago, ventured into Bersone itself to gather preliminary information on the Empire. He had left Bersone after he had made himself conspicuous, even through his country-boy tourist cover.  
  
Myles' displeasure deepened as he read further. All conveyed pretty much the same information. The Marenite secret service was in shambles. Though he would have ordinarily greeted such intelligence with glee, for his Maren contemporary was able, if rather unimaginative, the reasons for it were worrying. Maren's entire, modest network in Sarain had been dismantled in the most graphic way possible – all its spies in Sarain, based in the west in the border towns – had been murdered, their heads sent back to the Marenite capital, to the very desks of their very spy-runners, but no sign of how they were delivered. Spies all over, usually the most unflappable people anywhere, were quaking in their boots. His Saren operative wrote that all the other, modest representatives from the Eastern Lands had effectively shut down, fearful that they would be next.  
  
It was a fear that was well founded, even for those hardened agents. In such a new town – such a new sphere, most of the agents knew of the others, but went about their own business, knowing that fractious infighting among them would bring the unwelcome attention of whatever unknown counter- intelligence that Empress commanded. It was known now, and it was formidable. The agent wrote that he had noticed nothing untoward in the days leading up, and neither did any of the other agents (Myles raised his eyebrows at such fraternisation, but continued reading). There were more Imperials in Sarain, but they were mainly based in the capital – hardly surprising with Imperial bureaucratic and diplomatic offices well under construction – and there were no signs. No signs, until the morning dawned, and all ten members of the Marenite Secret Service in Sarain had been found, headless corpses.  
  
Whoever had killed them evidently feared no retribution. The bodies were in plain sight, as though it was beneath the dignity of the killers to hide their act. No visible signs of magic, unless one counted the magic of good training or talent – all were killed in decidedly unmagical ways, stabbed, garrotted, directly beheaded.  
  
The Imperial Intelligence Service was suspected, but personally Myles' agent doubted it, and Myles himself was inclined to agree. From what he knew of the Service, though admittedly it was quite little, they did not chose to silence their rivals so absolutely. No, for the Service, such tactics were crude, decidedly unsophisticated, and wastefully inefficient. No, the Service used what foreign agents it found cleverly, subtly, feeding them false information and gaining true intelligence in return. In the odd occasions when this was discovered, it was the foreign agent, who most likely was killed, either by their own spy-master, or at their own hands, out of shame.  
  
He wished that Jon and Thayet would hurry up with the latest letters from the Tortallan mission to Sarain. He was not yet prepared to send real spies there – for he had no idea how much the Imperials knew of his abilities, though he gathered it was rather more than he would have liked – but the observant eyes and ears of their embassy would certainly not go amiss. Myles sighed, wishing for the umpteenth time that George was back, for he knew that the ex-thief had observed and deducted far more than he would ever put to paper.  
  
There was a knock at the door, followed immediately by the entrance of the King and Queen of Tortall. Etiquette dictated that Myles should have stood, but he had long since earned the right to informality with his monarchs. He examined their faces carefully, for there were conflicting emotions there – both joy and sadness. They did not keep him in suspense.  
  
"Kally is expecting a child in about seven and a half months," Thayet was blunt as the expected, dutiful letter from the former Princess Royal of Tortall was produced. She gave Myles a challenging gaze.  
  
"I don't have an agent in the capital," he told her, "as you well know, Majesty. You might be interested to know, however, that the informant used by many of the Eastern Lands in Sarain is having trouble. Trained hawks have been visible above the capital, killing all the messenger-pigeons that don't have Imperial badging. Of much more serious note, however, is that despite our difficulties in gaining speedy, independent, intelligence from Sarain, Barnesh is having far worse problems."  
  
"Oh, how so?" Jon's letter – which appeared to be the less happy one, written in Lianne's hand – hung loosely from his fingers, half forgotten.  
  
"He no longer has any agents in Sarain." Myles patted the little stack of correspondence on his desk. "He had ten in the border towns on the Maren- Sarain border, acclimatising and preparing to move further east. A few weeks ago, all were killed in the same night, each of their heads arriving on the desks of their respective department head or immediate superior in the Maren capital very soon after."  
  
To their credit, both the Tortallan monarchs managed to swallow their shock. "Who?" Thayet recovered first.  
  
Myles shook his head. "The Imperials, of course – though there is some speculation as to the specific unit. It doesn't appear to be the work of either regular military assassins, or their standard intelligence service – if I may call it that."  
  
"What of ours?" Jonathan asked, suspecting the worst.  
  
"Unhurt – that is, physically, of course." Myles sighed. "Though, as you may imagine, he is justifiably nervous, and is not taking risks he might otherwise take to get information."  
  
"Is there any evidence that it was the Imperials, or is it just an educated guess?" Thayet asked.  
  
Myles raised an eyebrow. "No self-respecting Intelligence Service should ever lead enough evidence to convict, and I gather that the Imperials take theirs very seriously. The only note – pardon the pun – of interest was a message delivered to my equivalent in Maren, a single word, on plain paper, written in plain ink – Amateurs." He cocked his head. "Now, considering that the Marenite service is one of the better networks in the Eastern lands, and that Cathark never stoops to such dramatics, there really isn't anybody else that would consider Duke Desnel an amateur. Unimaginative, of course," Myles added hastily, "but not an amateur at all."  
  
There was a moment of silence in the room.  
  
"Lianne writes that she has made a decision to accept the suit of King Barnesh in winter," Jon seemed to remember the other letter, one he regarded with a frown.  
  
Myles, who had a soft spot for the royal children, raised an eyebrow. "That's odd…considering the last lot of letters about a certain…alternative. On that note, definite confirmation from informants in Sarain and the Empire that the Gavrillian family holdings are seriously substantial, and that their support - and money - is vital for any Empress."  
  
"Seeking to bind in a more subtle fashion?" Thayet asked delicately.  
  
"It seems so." Myles frowned as he read the short, rather terse letter. "There's something about this all which is all too hasty. I only hope that…what is it?" his head shot up as an out-of-breath messenger burst through the door, almost running into the King and Queen,.  
  
"Urgent message…" he panted, "just in. Announcement…important, sent by magic by the Champion and the Duke of Naxen…from the Empress…to King Yevgen…" he held out a bit of paper, scrawled in somebody's messy hand, as though they were impatiently trying to catch every word.  
  
Myles took it and then began to read aloud.  
  
Empress Rislyn, Lady of the Imperial House of Delmaran, Dictator of Bersone, Duxa Supremis, Imperial Knight, to King Yevgen of Sarain, Lord of the Imperial House of Delmaran, Imperial Knight, and Queen Kalasin of Sarain, Princess Royal of Tortall, Lady of the Royal House of Conté, greeting and felicitations.  
  
Brother and sister, we write to confer upon your Majesties' graces the governance of the Imperial provinces of Gacran, Telworzi, Bolserdia, and Rodlek, for you and your heirs, as long as your line shall endure.  
  
Hail and Farewell  
  
Rislyn Imperatora  
  
"How much land is that?" Jonathan asked, at the same time that Thayet observed, "Oh, look, they've Imperialised her name,"  
  
Myles answered Jon's question. "Roughly," he said, getting out the crude map his spy had made two years previous, "Tortall, Tusiane, Maren, Tyra, and most of Galla." He met the eyes of the Tortallan royals. "I'll try and get another agent into the Empire proper," he promised. "There's something far more complex in this."  
  
  
  
Evie,  
  
Goodness. That did sound pretentious, didn't it? Never mind, it conveyed the point. Everything west of Veirdish, including The Roof is yours, basically, and your heirs, at least for the foreseeable future. Have fun with your blockheads, I can't say I envy you one bit, being the one to deal with them on behalf of the Diadem. Just pay your taxes and send your levies in on time, and only the best for the Academy and University, thanks very much .  
  
Love,  
  
Ris  
  
P.S. Adore the hunting-cat kittens. We're calling them Augusta, Sebastius, and Pompeius. How did you and Kay manage to find ones with stripes and spots?  
  
P.P.S. Congratulations on the expected arrival into the family. I think Kalasin might just beat me by a few weeks. Haven't got that letter yet? Oh well, I won't be announcing it until it actually shows. Knowing our family, another three months. We think it's a girl, but it's a bit early yet.  
  
"Dictator?" Kally tilted her head to one side, just as Yevgen finished reading the unofficial letter that the messenger had brought together with the formal documents out loud. They were in the little sitting room that linked their studies.  
  
"Formality." Yevgen shrugged easily. "Centuries ago, the Empire was a city- state with lots of extended holdings ruled by a quasi-elected body we now call the Senate. Wealthy, yes, and powerful – but no more than – say – Tyra is in the Eastern Lands. In times of crisis, the body could give over power to an individual, who could rule without the formalities usually required to pass legislation and so on. That person was called the Dictator, and their term would last for six months, after which, things were meant to be back to normal, the Senate would take over again, and the Dictator would go back to doing whatever he or she was doing before. As you might expect, about five or six hundred years ago, someone didn't feel like handing power back, and declared herself Dictator for Life. That was Dama Laodice Garius. Well, for a while after that, the Dictatorship was for whoever was strong enough to hold it, with the Senate hovering around bleating in the background and generally being pretty useless, while the extended holdings frittered away, and the client-cities started to form their own little fiefs. We were about to fade back into history."  
  
"What happened?" Kally asked, curious.  
  
"About five hundred years ago, a few of the more powerful families in the Senate decided enough was enough, and decided that they all had to unite under a single Dictator. It was easier said than done, but eventually to cut to the chase, they settled on a charismatic young knight named Berenice Delmaran, who was very popular among her peers in the military, both Army and Navy. Well, you can guess what happened next. While all the other assorted candidates were plotting and scheming among themselves, a little judicious planning resulted in a military coup. The military put Berenice into the Dictator's Chair – but it was the aristocratic families, and their money who kept her there long enough for her to make some fairly substantial changes, subdue a few rebellious clients, and add a very nice little bit of territory. Her daughter, Soraya, claimed the Chair after Berenice died, conquered a few rather more significant provinces, including several Kingdoms, which meant she felt justified in calling herself an Empress, because it was rather odd that she took tribute from client-kings who would technically outrank a mere knight – which is all the social rank a Dictator is usually entitled to. And the rest, so they say, is history," Yevgen cut off the recitation of his early family history rather abruptly.  
  
"So that's where Kay's name comes from," she observed. "Is it a very common name in your family?"  
  
"No, not really. There have been six Empresses named Berenice, it's true, but it's more common to find it in younger daughters in the military." He smiled slightly, knowing how well it fit. "It means 'bringer of victory', so it's appropriate, I guess. Many of them have been Generals – and surprisingly good ones, too."  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Who is it?" Kally called.  
  
The footman outside the door cleared his throat significantly (by now, the staff had very definite ideas about what the King and Queen were doing if the door was firmly shut. Neither bothered to mention that at least half the time they were talking about politics. It ensured that spies, an unexpectedly prudish lot, were less likely to attempt to eavesdrop of the royal couple's private conversations.)  
  
"Her Highness, Princess Lianne, craves a word with her Majesty…" the footman trailed off, sounding slightly embarrassed, as Yevgen levered himself out of his comfortable armchair with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"I suppose I'd better leave you two to it," he said, folding up the letter. He paused slightly, then bent with lightning-quick speed to kiss Kalasin deeply on the lips, hard enough to leave bruises on both of them. He pulled away with a roguish, mischievous grin that made him look much younger than even his years as he flicked open the top few buttons of her tunic with practised ease.  
  
"Better give the spies reasons to blush and stay away" he said, ducking as Kally stood up and tried to swat him. He was more nimble than his tall, muscular frame suggested, though, and dodged her half-serious attempts easily. He managed to rumple his own clothing artistically before opening the door to a seriously embarrassed footman, and bowing to Lianne, who only now seemed to realise what she appeared to have interrupted.  
  
Yevgen ushered Lianne in, took himself out, and closed the door behind him, before the younger Tortallan princess could do much more than stammer an apology. There was an awkward moment of silence between the sisters, before Kally made a motion towards the chair that Yevgen had so recently vacated.  
  
"I think I know what this is about," Kally poured tea from a pot that seemed to have mysteriously appeared at her elbow. Certainly the cups had not been used yet. "And yes, I am surprised that you've decided on Barnesh, considering how we've always regarded him."  
  
Lianne turned the cup awkwardly in her hands, unsure of how to begin, trying not to notice the state of her sister's attire. "Well…it's true that…he's rude, and condescending, and has no table manners, and awful…but he's never made any secret of that. I know what he is. There won't be any surprises."  
  
Raised eyebrows. "Some surprises are very nice," Kally offered mildly.  
  
Lianne snorted. "Only if they come from a package like that," she waved in the direction of the door, clearly meaning the absent Saren King. She looked glum. "My mind's made up, Kal. It's best for Tortall, anyway…"  
  
Kally muttered something very unQueenlike under her breath, but then looked her sister full in the face. "There are many 'bests' for Tortall." She advised levelly. "Life isn't a straight road – and neither is politics or diplomacy. Ten years ago it would have been 'best' for me to marry Kaddar at the age of eleven. Take what appears to be the best of a load of bad options now – and sometimes you close off far better ones in the future."  
  
"Don't do that!" Lianne snapped.  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Think of alternatives!" Lianne slumped further down into her chair, then abruptly changed the subject. "It's been…nice…here, even with that," she offered weakly. "You're…happy in your fate. We can't all be like you. Best to go with unhappiness that I'll expect, instead of being disappointed."  
  
"Have you told him?" Kalasin's voice was soft. She didn't need to say who 'he' was.  
  
"Yes. Yes I have. He knows that I know that whatever charms he's using on me are only on orders. He knows that I know that he doesn't really like me. I know that I'll never tell him how close I came to really liking him…"  
  
Kally gave her sister a doubtful look, certain that Lianne's feelings for Kelvar Gavrillian were more than 'like'.  
  
Lianne met that level sapphire gaze calmly. "I've made my decision Kalasin, and I am going to stick by it. Fortune is not as kind to all of us. I've had an easy life. It doesn't come without a price." The stream of rationalisations that she had obviously been pondering for several days at least seemed to rush out, none of them terribly convincing.  
  
Kally recognised that old tactic – of trying to forget one old pain by inflicting newer ones, in the hope that the older one would be forgotten. Kally could have told Lianne that it never worked, that it just made things worse, but now wasn't the time.  
  
"Now," Lianne looked a little better now that she had managed to spill something out. However, she still appeared distinctly uncomfortable, and even more so in the light of the perceived reasons for Kally's dishevelled appearance. "I have something …private to ask…about, well, husbands…"  
  
  
  
At this point, Kelvar Gavrillian pulled his ear away from the wall with a shudder. At his desk, Yevgen raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow as he pored through the reams of documents that inevitably followed the increase in his territory. It was an odd arrangement, though not one that was completely without precedent. While he (and Kalasin) would technically have the joint rule of Sarain, that authority was considered completely separate from their authority in the new territories, though they would have pretty much the same powers in either jurisdiction. He groaned mentally at the thought of more titles – Rislyn had only put his more important ones in the official letter, after all – and wondered cynically at his eldest sister's motives. True, the additional territory, authority, and income would be welcome – but he was hardly impoverished, and Sarain was coming along very nicely. No, Rislyn had to make sure that there were no rival claims to the Diadem – not even a hint of dissatisfaction, or even the faintest cause for partisans to take charge. He knew that his short rule in Sarain was looked upon favourably in Bersone (by those who actually bothered to find out where Sarain was), and that made him a possible target for dissidents wanting a rival Emperor, rare as they were. Rislyn needed to make it clear to any rival factions in Court that she trusted him, and that they need not bother preying on any insecurities he might have – therefore, the large provinces – but also made sure to keep him extremely busy – therefore, the large, restless, difficult provinces. The same theory was being applied to Kay – important commands, it was true, and assignments under the best Generals, in charge of competent troops – but always in challenging theatres, where there was no chance that she could be bored, or even have the opportunity to entertain the overtures of potential regicides.  
  
Yevgen did not begrudge his eldest sister her caution. She was clever enough to realise that neither of her younger siblings were completely without intelligence or ambition, but instead of having them quietly killed or otherwise removed, like a less-confident, less capable Empress might, she was going to make the best use of them.  
  
"Something you don't like?" he asked quietly. Privately, while he didn't quite appreciate his wife's personal conversations with her sister being spied upon, intellectually, he did realise the importance of discussions between two Tortallan princesses. That and the fact that it was so patently obvious to one who was a good deal more perceptive than most people believed that Kelvar Gavrillian's interest in the Princess Lianne of Conté was a mite more than purely professional.  
  
"Oh? No – just…well, you don't expect girls like her to be talking about things like that!" his voice was equally quiet, but didn't quite disguise his dismay.  
  
"Ah." Kel really didn't have to elaborate. "Kelvar," Yevgen began patiently, in older-brother tones (ones that he had very little occasion to use), "just which rock have you been hiding under? You were twelve years in the Academy, surely you know that they really aren't all that different from us?"  
  
Kelvar muttered something about Yevgen's rather notoriously fastidious tastes in women (for he was, by Imperial – particularly knightly – standards), but replied, "Well…but they're well…girls like us. From what you read about girls this side of the Roof – they're not like that…" he trailed off as he realised just how ridiculous he sounded. He rapidly changed the subject. "And how could she do that? Talk about Barnesh of Maren like that? I mean, how could someone do that, out of duty? Just sleep with…" he trailed off, realising that the person he was speaking to had done just that.  
  
"So that's the way the land lies, is it?" Yevgen marked off some papers as read and transferred them to his 'out' tray, ignoring the younger man's blunder. "I hate to break it to you, Kel, but to put it crudely, your brain doesn't have to be working at the relevant time."  
  
"But…but…I thought you really loved Kalasin! You certainly give an impression of it!"  
  
Yevgen snorted. "Of course I love her. Very much so. Certainly in a much more mature way than I've done previously, but that's beside the point. I certainly didn't know her terribly well when we got married, and we didn't have any problems." More papers went into the tray (he read very quickly). "It's not just professional, is it?" he asked mildly, "your interest in her, I mean. Pardon the grammar." He apologised.  
  
"I don't know," Kelvar seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation between the sisters. He sank down into a chair. "I really have no idea. I never expected to form any attachments to anybody – and the Swords are never expected to do this sort of thing unconnected with an assignment – so I'm at a bit of a loss, really."  
  
:"Especially considering that she already knows," Yevgen observed. "My only advice is, Kel – seeing that she leaves in a few days – is to make up your mind quickly."  
  
  
  
Kelvar didn't really get the chance to see Lianne alone before the Tortallan party left from their extended visit some days later. There were warm farewells, plenty of gifts, and invitations to visit (since Kalasin had accepted, no matter how reluctantly, that her sister was to marry Barnesh, the invitation to Lianne had been to come often, and stay or a long time – without her husband), but eventually, it was time to go.  
  
Lianne stood with the others in the front courtyard as their horses were lead up. As she held out her hand for the groom to toss her into the saddle, she realised that it was not a mere groom holding her horse's bridle.  
  
"Good morning, sir," she said, as formally as she could, ignoring the depths of his dark, chocolate-coloured eyes (she wondered why he had that effect on her, when there were others with such eyes).  
  
"Good morning, Highness," he was just as formal. "I hear that you are to announce your betrothal to His Majesty of Maren in the winter."  
  
Lianne didn't bother to ask how he found out – someone would have told him – palaces everywhere were notorious hotbeds of gossip, and the Saren palace was no exception. "I am." She replied curtly.  
  
"Are you so determined, lady?" he asked, voice soft.  
  
Lianne was adjusting a stirrup, so didn't see the hope in his eyes.  
  
"I am," she repeated. "Good day, Sir," she jerked the rein from his hands and nudged her horse away, towards the grand gate at the front of the Palace.  
  
A few minutes later, when all the farewells were said, and the Tortallan entourage were starting to fade into the traffic outside the palace, someone came up to her brother, idly brushing a speck of dust off her very impressive, yet very practical outfit  
  
"Yelizabeta, Gordius and Kazan just limped in," Radanae informed him. "They'll be ready to start off in a few days. Will you be ready to go? Kel?"  
  
"Yes," he said absently, still looking after the departing Tortallans.  
  
"And make sure you pack properly," the elder-sister in Radanae took over. "The Marenite capital gets very cold the minute summer's up." 


	20. Time's Flight

Time's flight 

It was another glorious summer in Sarain. The days were long, the sun's rays were golden and nurturing, and looked to be another rich harvest. The Imperial Embassy and other bureaucratic offices were well on the way to completion, and the originally discordant Saren Defence Forces appeared to be somewhat closer to forming a vaguely cohesive fighting unit. All in all, a beautiful, quiet time for the King and Queen, much appreciated as they awaited the birth of their first child. 

Even the hysterics of the interior designers, the newly-found assertiveness of the new worker's unions, the sulks of the architects couldn't quite take away Radanae's genuine pleasure as she inspected the new buildings. Imposing without being ostentatious, elegant, yet practical, they were ideal outposts for both functions of the Diplomatic Service. She envied whoever was to be posted here very much. It was not to be her. She had already been away from Bersone far longer than prudence would dictate. Her original true aim – to see Kalasin and Yevgen finally open their eyes – had long been achieved, and now her official one – the supervision of the construction site was now complete. She would have to return to Bersone, or the inevitable gossip about the real reason a scion of a great House was spending so much time with a younger child of the Imperial House might genuinely damage her career. 

It was done. She might not see Sarain for a very long time. She bid a heartfelt farewell to both Yevgen and Kalasin before turning the rather overfed, underexercised Luana east towards the Empire. She spared a glance back, not just for the Saren royals, but further west, where she wondered if her brother was letting personal matters get in the way of more professional duties.   
  


Kel knew that King Barnesh would not have taken any notice of him during the State visit, for there would have been no reason to, but he did not become a Sword for laziness in the area of precautions. Imperial policies dictated that simple, subtle disguises worked the best, and were the easiest to maintain. So it was for him, and the other two men and one woman who were the latest additions to the Imperial contingent in Maren. There were others, of course, informants, intelligence officers, and diplomatic officers, all performing roughly the same job in different spheres. 

Saving the 'diplomats' who were all in the Palace and the Ambassadors' Quarter, the other members were spread out in the widest reaches of society, from beggars and petty thieves, to wealthy businesspeople, priests, and actors. Maren was a hub of international trade in the Eastern Lands, and their slight foreignness went unchallenged. Sir Kazan Reomodis and Kelvar took on the roles of a spoilt-brat son of a wealthy merchant on a 'Grand Tour' and his long-suffering personal bodyguard/manservant. Sir Gordius, much to his disgust, accepted the necessity of a disguise as a lower-priced mercenary and general bully-boy-for-hire rather too fond of drink. It meant that nobody would ever challenge him should he ever be questioned. Dama Yelizabeta, always flamboyant, declared that she was never again going to be a simple trading-woman or servant, which were the more usual roles for female agents this side of the Roof (female mercenaries were simply too unusual not to be remembered, and noblewomen needed to know the pedigrees of every noble family in the country – an exercise far more trouble than it was worth), and set herself up as a very expensive courtesan. It was an inspired choice, for Yelizabeta's striking looks – all gold-blonde hair and violet eyes (she was a cousin of the Imperial Family – her elder sister ran the Central Bank) – had been a liability more than once for the superb agent, marking her out in any witness's memory (it meant that she had a rather higher kill rate than most – from eliminating witnesses). Besides, nobody ever questioned a whore's background, and nobody ever questioned why so many potential paramours were turned away (she was just as fastidious as her cousin Yevgen in some respects). Her selective reputation only made her more desirable among the Marenite elite, so much so that in their meetings, she wryly remarked to the others that she was more in danger from other courtesans in the city, wanting to protect their livelihoods, than she ever was from rival agents. 

But things take time. And in the fullness of time, they, and all the other Imperial agents in Maren (including Barnesh's favourite wine-steward), waited.   


Homecoming for the Tortallan party was joyous, all of them very glad to see home again. For Lianne though, it was an occasion of mixed emotions. Her holiday in Sarain was well and truly over. Now, each day merely brought nearer the day she would have to leave her home, for the most awful exile imaginable. Her sister had done it before her. Shinko had done it before Kalasin. Women from noble families almost all over the known world had, for as long as anyone could remember. 

Lianne did not think about the female Imperial knights she had met, girls and young women from families easily as old, noble, and proud as any in the Eastern Lands, free to do anything they pleased, free to like, love, or sleep with whomever they pleased, free to take control of their own lives. She did not think about other aspects of Kally or Shinko's fates – namely their reasonably pleasant, handsome, same-generation husbands, and the considerable independent power each of them wielded, or would wield in their adopted lands. Maren would bring no joy, none of the personal sort that both Kally and Shinko had evidently found, but with no expectations, it could hardly bring disappointment. She could do some good in Maren, she tried to cheer herself up, she could somehow manage to bring up their laws to something approaching modernity, she could champion the causes of heiresses (for in Maren, women were forbidden from being the chief beneficiaries of a will, even if there were no other heirs, and what they could receive was strictly curtailed), she could set up schools and hostels for the poor. Yes, many things that she could do. Things that no doubt both Kally and Shinko did do, only without the presence of someone she genuinely liked to spend her free time with.   


"Something happened one night – very shortly after Barnesh arrived," Lianne was safely up in her quarters, Keladry dragged off by what friends she had among the young knights in Corus, so Alanna, George, Buri and Duke Gareth sat in an informal conference with Jonathan, Thayet, and Myles. It had been Duke Gareth who spoke. 

"Did she ever say anything to any of you?" 

Buri shook her head. "No. At the start of the trip she made a confidant out of Kel, being the only other woman anywhere close to her in age. However, after Kelvar Gavrillian arrived on the scene, she pretty much stopped the gossip, and Kel spent much of the rest of the visit with the younger Imperial knights, and much of that time, predictably enough, spent beating the daylights out of the Marenite knights." 

Myles allowed himself a little beam of pleasure at how Keladry had turned out, before turning to more serious matters. "Did you notice anything untoward in the Saren Court?" 

"It's crawling with Imperials," George offered bluntly, "and not all of them are there for the sights. Radanae Gavrillian isn't the only trained spy there. Believe me, it takes one to know one. The so-called 'diplomatic service' is teaming with them." 

"What are most of them like?" 

"Young, most below thirty," George informed his monarch, "with the exception of the Gavrillians and perhaps a few thrill-seekers, I would guess those without connections, without family clout, but those with a lot of ambition, and know it's the quickest place to get noticed, in a dangerous place, under the eye of an Imperial Prince." 

"And what is Yevgen proving as a ruler?" Jonathan asked, curious about his son-in-law, but also curious about the man whose power buffeted Maren on the opposite side to Tortall. 

"That is hard to say," Duke Gareth acknowledged, shaking his head, almost amused that after a lifetime of reading young men, he could not read this one, this one of vital personal and political importance. "Quiet, subtle, very restrained. I gather he still has much of the old Saren establishment very much on edge because his style is so different. No military flamboyance, no triumphal parades, no grand entertainments, no towering statues - but yet he makes his presence and authority very much known. Calm in clean streets, orderly soldiers, food in the markets, luxuries in the stores. Appears to disdain violence and military strong-arm tactics as uncreative and unnecessary, though that doesn't stop him being able to best practically every warrior on the practice courts – completely wiped all of Barnesh's personal guard, so that display two years ago was no fluke. I do not think that he has any personal ambitions to expand his territory further west of his own accord, though, of course, we know very little of grander Imperial ambitions. If he does, he's keeping them very close. Another thing, too," Gareth added, "it's actually very difficult to tell which things are his influence, and which are Kally's. One imagines that he's the one getting the intelligence briefings from the Imperials, and the one the Army listens to, but one could never tell by looking. Every detail in the treaty signed between Tortall and the Empire about Kally's authority is followed to the letter. She is doing very well. They seem to work well together." 

"More than that," only years of respect had prevented Alanna from interrupting her old teacher. "much more than that." 

Jon gave his champion a sharp look, but it was Buri who answered. "Let's just say that just because it's taken them nearly two years to start a baby, doesn't mean it's for lack of trying. The court, the city, and even most of the surrounding country is alive with gossip about the two of them." 

Thayet looked anxious, "So she is happy, then?" 

Buri shrugged in her blunt manner, the casual move belying her real concern for the princess, "As happy as I've ever seen her at any rate." She met the eyes of both monarchs calmly. "She has learnt the lessons you've taught her. She will be – she is – a very good Queen. At last, I think Sarain as a Queen with real power who is truly worthy of her" The words were picked carefully – for Thayet's mother, the first Queen Kalasin, had no power whatsoever. The few optimistic K'mir tribes who had thought that the Warlord's marriage to one of their own might have improved matters in Sarain were swiftly and sorely disappointed. Adijun jian Wilima swiftly made it clear that no matter how he might have personally appreciated his new Consort's considerable intelligence and drive, he had married her for her equally stunning looks, and had no a shred of intent of gifting her any important influence at all. 

"That is a relief." Thayet exhaled gently. "She does write, of course, and she never says anything that would suggest that she's unhappy, but what one feels and what one writes are often two completely different things. I only wish…" the words were left unsaid, for all in the room knew that at this point, an equally satisfactory fate for Lianne was fairly unlikely.   
  


The warmer months were uncomfortable in the Saren capital at the best of times. In previous reigns, the Warlord and his family had dealt with the problem by simply moving the entire Court to the Summer Palace in the mountains, but that was not possible for the present monarchs. 

For a start, the old Summer Palace was in ruins, used variously as a fort, a hospital, and finally, a refuge in the decades of civil war. Secondly, the new King and Queen were not nearly so erratic about their responsibilities of governance as their predecessors, and thirdly, both felt it best to remain in the capital in case the Queen's pregnancy made travelling difficult. 

Neither really had any first-hand idea of what to expect. Yevgen was the youngest child in his family, and youngest of the various Imperial cousins, and very few Imperial knights started families before their late twenties in any case. Kally's younger siblings were reasonably close to her in age, so she could not recall her mother's later pregnancies. 

Whatever the various reasons, though, despite the best efforts of the Imperial architects and engineers, the Palace was hot and stuffy, and even the fine silk sheets that had replaced the linen in the royal bed felt clammy in the mornings. 

"There _is_ more than one reason for that," Yevgen had felt honour-bound to point out more than once when she mentioned it. 

Kally would usually have slapped him for that, but most mornings were spent vomiting in the bathroom, and so she usually was unable to formulate a suitably cutting reply. Other than that, though, the summer months for the Saren couple passed in surprising peace and quiet, interrupted only by yet more expression of congratulations from all over the known world. 

If Yevgen had managed to find a little spare time that summer, he might have remarked upon the inordinate number of messenger-birds and couriers dashing east and west across Sarain. However, it was highly probable that he noticed it, and remembered it for later consideration. It was almost certain that he worked out what was going on, if not then, at least later when the news came in.   
  


"I'm very glad to know he's matured so much," the Empress unwound her formal purple toga and dumped it very unceremoniously on the floor, followed by a narrow, scratchy tiara made up of hair-thin gold wire, yellow diamonds, and seed pearls. Rislyn sighed as she reclined on the low couch. An exhausting day of State reception for a minor princeling was ordinarily no great trial, only boredom, but ordinarily, the Empress didn't happen to be expecting the long-awaited Imperial heir. 

Babies were in the air, Radanae thought, and made a mental note to stay far, far, away until the child was old enough for a sensible conversation. She thought the only one anticipating the birth more than the parents was the baby's Aunt Berenice, who could finally do as she liked in her military career, no longer having to take extra precautions now that she would no longer be the Heir. 

"He'll do a good job," Radanae informed the Empress, equally at ease. While there would never be the girlish gossip and ridiculous challenges with this Delmaran princess as there was with the other, the two of them got along extremely well. "Kalasin is good for him." 

"Good," Rislyn sounded genuinely relived. "I thought so when they were here in winter, but I couldn't be sure." A slight pause. "It's good to know that he's truly capable. I wonder if Kay and I were a little bit too protective when he was younger." 

A justifiable concern. Empress Vanaria had not been pleased at the birth of a son together with the very welcome younger daughter, and had never made much of a secret of the fact. Consequently, the princesses had taken great care to ensure that their brother never found out, especially after their father died. To the best of their knowledge, he never did, however, it did leave him dangerously ignorant of Court gossip, a liability in a Court as complex and deadly as the one in Bersone. Protected, sheltered by two formidable elder sisters, but subtly so, Yevgen had never been forced to fight in anything other than a military and intellectual sense. It was certainly a welcome surprise that he could fight with people too. 

"How's he doing with Barnesh?" 

"He handled the State Visit very well indeed. Even went so far as to demonstrate he could personally whip every single member of old Barney's personal guard without wrinkling his tunic – and he was wearing linen that morning, which I thought was a spectacularly nice touch." 

"A tad too dramatic, though," Rislyn said worriedly. She was one who never demonstrated her own formidable martial ability, reasoning that it meant that potential assassins would always underestimate her ability to defend herself. 

Radanae snorted. "It's different over there, _Imperatrix_," she used the less-formal honorific, "They worship big bully boys who can bend an iron bar with their bare hands. He left the Marenites very impressed." 

There was a little pause. "How are things in Maren, really, anyway?" 

"They're all settling in very well. You may have to brace yourself for some anguished screams from the accounting department, though, and a bit of a drain to your Treasury. Yelizabeta's finally got sick of the trader-woman and farmwife covers. She's now Beatarize, the most sought-after, most expensive, most visible courtesan in the Marenite capital." 

Rislyn choked on the fruit juice she was sipping. "Oh that's good. She's so visible that no one will ever think that she's anything than what she appears." She held back a very unregal giggle. "Have you spoken to Samash? Is he willing?" 

"I've spoken to Natseyah," Radanae informed her monarch, "but she's had discussions with him. They've agreed. Barnesh has been neglecting his country these last few years, the urban and rural poor, the serfs, are in real hardship now that they can no longer rely on the corn dole from the crops of the regions that the Saren farmers used to live. Most of them have gone back to Saren. Apparently, they feel that no matter how bad a ruler Evie turns out to be – and he's not – they'd rather grub in their own dirt, if there are no armies there. Besides, Barnesh is diverting huge amounts of revenue into his military – revenue that nobody in their Treasury expected to need to find, so they've had to take it away from other areas. Consequently, the roads aren't being maintained, the messenger system is random, and the law courts are in shambles. The economy is stagnant, with so many new poor, there's little coin circulating, so the merchants, the craftsmen, and artisans are starting to feel the effects. The priesthoods worry that they'll have more needy to deal with, and fewer able to give donations towards the added strain. The city guards are worried that they won't be able to control the populace, especially with increased numbers of soldiers making nuisances of themselves. It appears that Maren is hovering very dangerously just on the cusp of all-out anarchy. What is also interesting is that the intelligence offices of nearly all the Eastern Lands agree with that assessment. All their embassies have put in orders for reinforced doors and windows, and are planning escape routes for their consulate staff. It appears obvious to everybody except the Marenite elite, who, by and large, are going about their lives as they always have. It will take only the proverbial lighted match to set off the blaze that is all too likely to consume Maren, so the operation has to be planned exactly. Maren isn't poor – there's loads of potential there – but its wealth is being squandered and mismanaged by a King who appears to only recently have gone completely off his block. Previously, I would have said he was the most stable of the lot – save perhaps that Gallan whose name we can never get right. But to be fair – with King Jonathan-who-can-call-down-lighting, King-of-the-week in Scanra, King-whatsit-the-completely-indifferent in Tusaine, and that squabbling Tyran Assembly, it wasn't much of a competition. If there is any surplus at all in Treasury, he's offering to the Tortallans for Princess Lianne. As nice as the girl is, it's hardly responsible fiscal policy for Maren." 

"I was just about to ask about that. I take it that it didn't work?" 

"No. Somehow she found out that Kel's interest wasn't purely – personal – and reacted the way you expect any teenage girl to react." 

Since Rislyn wasn't really all that far out from her teens (she was several months shy of twenty-six), and had a good, accurate memory, she recalled all too well. She grimaced. "Not good at all." There was no mention about Rislyn's likely reasons for wanting Lianne to marry Kelvar, thereby establishing him as a sort of brother-in-law-in-law to the Imperial family, and by extension a familial relationship with the enormously powerful Gavrillians. Rislyn was young, comparatively inexperienced, and had no great military feats to her name with which to inspire a vast populace or to enrich the elite, and, even worse, had a not-very-much-younger sister who was starting to. The House of Gavrillian had faithfully supported the Delmaran Empresses for centuries, but there was no denying that they had considerably more real clout, and turned out members on a respectably reasonable basis who equalled, or even excelled their peers in the Delmaran family. The Gavrillians could have easily taken the Diadem several times even in the last century, and both women, history buffs, knew it. Rislyn had been trying to make sure that despite the loyalty that Teleri Gavrillian had shown to her mother (they had been blood-oath-sisters since their teens), despite the binding oaths that Kelvar had sworn personally to her as a member of the Swords, there was a much more compelling binding, one of the blood. 

Well, that and Tortall and the Eastern Lands, but Radanae was not so naïve to think that the Empress would value such far-away lands without the influx of Gift into the aristocratic families, or the binding of the most powerful of them to her own. She knew that had there been a suitable male – a relative of Corin's perhaps, or even an Imperial cousin – she might have been gently hinted in that direction. However, given the inevitable blood-ties that any group establishes when they kept detailed genealogy charts that went back more than half a millennium, it was quite difficult to find anyone who was not already related in some way. The Imperials had quite a different attitude to inbreeding that most aristocrats. 

"No. But Barnesh cannot continue to make a nuisance of himself. We had enough trouble from Sarain during their civil wars. We didn't put an end to that only to have trouble further west. We're extended beyond our natural geographic borders, you know. The Roof is a perfect natural front. We didn't go beyond that to secure all the passes to have to deal with such a nonentity." 

"I never thought we had," Radanae replied dryly. "We've also unconfirmed reports that he's sending out feelers to Maggur Rathushak in Scanra, but details are sketchy, so we'll have to wait on those." 

"Oh, good, another unwashed barbarian warlord," Rislyn groaned and drained her glass. "Anything else interesting happening in the world?" 

"Just that some of our trade treaties with Tortall are coming up for review soon," Radanae observed lightly, being deliberately casual. 

"Oh, no you don't 'Danae," Rislyn sat straight up. "You've had your holidays for a while. In case you've not noticed, there's rather more speculation than I'd like about the reasons for your wandering feet." 

"I had noticed, and I didn't have me in mind," Radanae said with great dignity. "I thought that Dama Hypathia might like a gentle return visit, to keep her mind sharp in her retirement. And since her joints trouble her so now, don't you think it's time she had some aides who were strong enough to support her physically as well as secretarially?" 

Rislyn hadn't survived as long as she had as Heir and Empress by being obtuse. "Oh Goddess, you're good. Yes, it is a good idea. After his current duties are over?" 

"I wouldn't dream of interrupting the Swords for such an insignificant matter." Radanae kept a perfectly straight face. 

Rislyn snorted as she put her glass down. "You are going to be absolutely terrible when you get elected Consul, you know that?" 

"I do, I do indeed. But there's nearly twenty years to go, aren't there? We wouldn't want to give the impression that there's any undue influence on the voting process, shall we?"   
  


"Move it up." Lianne's voice was remote, yet chillingly determined. "Let's get this farce over and done with." 

The Council, who even a few days ago, had members who were congratulating themselves of the imminent alliance with Maren and ignoring the younger princess except as a facilitator in that alliance, seemed rather taken aback. 

"Your Highness…" one of the token conservatives on the Council bleated. 

"It is what you wanted, isn't it?" her icy tones shut him off mid-sentence. "I would have thought you would all be overjoyed. I certainly am not. Good day, ladies, gentlemen."   


"Of course I'm sure!" she snapped to her parents in more private surrounds. "It's going to happen. Don't draw it out by waiting." 

"Lia…" Thayet probed gently, "what happened in Sarain?" 

"You sent me to see what an arranged marriage is like. You sent me to meet Barnesh. I highly doubt there will be any overlap between my two observations on that score. I want to get it over and done with. He's an old man. It won't last long." She said the last two sentences without a trace of sentiment, coldly stating the facts. "If he was younger I certainly would be trying to delay it as much as possible." 

Lianne was very cold these days. 

"Lia…" Jonathan tried. 

"No, father," Lianne stopped him mid-syllable. "I don't quite know what you were about, sending me away just after I got the short list. When I got there…when I got there…it was as though I'd been taken to the top of a mountain, and shown all the beauties of the world, and saying 'this is what you can never have' and dragging me even further down than where I'd started from. Why?" she asked. "None of the shortlist is even remotely like Yevgen. I don't know what comparison I was supposed to draw. None of them are as young, certainly. Did you know he only just turned twenty-two? That's less than a third Barnesh's age, you know. He's more than three times better-looking. But there are things more important than that. He likes Kally for herself. He trusts her. He respects her intelligence, her judgement. When he thinks she's not looking, he practically worships at her feet. The best I can hope for is to be some ghastly old lecher's little pet – spoiled, indulged, but kept shut away from the world to die of boredom. I don't even want to think the worst. But to try and compare my situation with Kally's and find comfort? I cannot." She seemed far away. "They're friends – good friends, they're partners, lovers in more than just the physical sense, they genuinely enjoy each other's company. I watched them and knew what I could never have." He eyes refocused. "You wanted me to marry Barnesh. I will. Now hurry up about it."   
  
  


All through the Marenite capital the bells pealed as the identity of Barnesh's fifth Queen was revealed, the worst-kept secret in the Eastern Lands. 

In a rather tastelessly decorated apartment in an expensive part of town (Swords had generous expense accounts – honestly, no one in Treasury dared to reject their claims slips in any case), a young man was decoding a message hidden in a hideously over-scented love-letter. The serious expression in his eyes and his wrinkled brow were in stark contrast to his expensive, frivolous clothing and near-useless dress rapier. 

"Kel!" he called to his fellow agent, who stood gazing out the window, eyes staring at the pealing belltower. With seeming reluctance, the other young man, wearing serviceable linen and leather under good-quality steel mail, turned around. 

"The wedding's been moved up. The first week of winter." Their eyes met. 

"We'd better get a wriggle on, then." Kel remarked. 

"Kel?" 

"Yes?" 

"It is apparently at Princess Lianne's request." Sir Kazan didn't have to look to know that his partner's fingers were tightening slightly on the windowsill where they were resting. 

"Then we must certainly stop all this dallying around and get down to business." 

A small piece of wood broke of the windowsill with a satisfying snap, then crumbled to dust in the knight's fingers.   
  


_And now, I bid a short farewell, as I embark on first Semester exams *shudder*. I should be back in late June or early July._   



	21. A Solution of Sorts

A Solution of Sorts

"Kally?" Yevgen knocked softly on the door of their rooms as he entered quietly, knowing that his wife was resting. 

Kally sat up slowly. Much to her disgust, she was still feeling both ill and tired during her pregnancy, and imagined herself to be swelling up to twice her normal size, though an objective observer would have barely noticed the small bump around her abdomen area. She couldn't recall any of the ladies at Court having anywhere near as much trouble with their babies. Her mother was riding well into her sixth month, and Alanna the Lioness only withdrew from her duties as Champion during her pregnancies when it became physically impossible. 

"What is it?" she asked, knowing that it had to be reasonably important. After the first few times she'd snapped at him, he had taken the hint and not interrupted her afternoon lie-downs. 

"Sorry to disturb you," he apologised, coming to sit at the end of the chaise where she was lying, "but there's a letter just come in. Apparently, we're not going to be welcoming King Barnesh into the family anymore." 

"Oh? Has Lianne come to her senses? Wonderful!" 

"Depends how you look at it." Yevgen handed her the letter, that had the slightly-fried look that indicated that they had very few skilled communications-mages with them (face-to-face linking took more sustained energy, and furthermore had greater opportunities for 'eavesdroppers'). "He's dead." 

There was a moment of stunned silence. 

"How?" Kalasin breathed. Whatever she had expected, it was not this. Old, Barnesh may have been, corpulent and most assuredly not athletic, but he was in remarkably good shape for his age. He seemed to be the type of desiccated old ancient that an impatient heir would have to one day bludgeon to death with an axe. It appeared that somebody had taken that task upon themselves. 

"It _seemed_ natural enough on its own," Yevgen began, "a heart attack in his bath." 

"But…?" Kally sat up straight, waving off her husband's attempts to help. 

"But…it was coincidentally that most of the Marenite elite also died that very night. Military officers, bureaucrats, courtiers, magistrates, priests, priestesses. In isolation, they all seem perfectly…well…explainable. Meeting up with drunken hooligans, robberies and burglaries gone wrong, carriage-accidents, strokes, heart attacks, violent quarrels over courtesans, severe differences in opinion that ended with rapiers at dawn – that sort of thing. Each in themselves perfectly normal, but when they happen over a space of about thirty hours…" 

"Planned." Kally finished succinctly. "But why? I can guess who, but why?"   
  
  


"…and the Lord High Magistrate – apparently run down by a carriage driven by a drunken young aristocrat…" the piles of little notes on Sir Myles's desk were starting to verge on the ridiculous. 

"What's going on?" Jon burst into the office that was the real hub of his intelligence service, slightly alarmed at the short message that Myles had sent to him not ten minutes before. 

"Death in Maren." George said bluntly. "Specific deaths. King Barnesh. His highest-ranking Generals. Judges. Priests. Bankers. Nobles. They've been more than sixty of them in a space of about thirty hours." 

"Gods." Jon was ashen. "Any clues?" 

"Not on the surface, at least none that they can see. Individually taken, each incident looks natural – King Barnesh died of an apparent heart attack in his own bath, after all. But so many…" Myles trailed off. 

"Are our agents safe?" 

"So safe they didn't even have any idea that it was planned. All the information's been sent by regular pigeon and courier, so we didn't even realise how serious it was until we got so many." 

"I have to wonder though," Jonathan pondered. "Who inherits now? The female line's barred, and the only cousin I can recall off the top of my head just went into the priesthood." 

"No, there's another…oh Gods." Myles went rapidly to his files. "There's another cousin – Lord Samash - quite young – and he married about two years ago." He retrieved a file marked 'Reign of Jonathan I – Essay Topics'. "Any guesses to whom?" 

"Natseyah Q'ok," George answered before his king could open his mouth. "Imperial knight." He informed Jon tersely. "Rather nice young lady," he added, clearly an afterthought. 

"Exactly," Myles snapped the file shut. "Also, might we add, from a family that is well respected, and one whose loyalty to the Empress is unquestioned." 

Silence around the small room. 

"I suppose I should tell Thayet and Lianne," Jonathan said, at length. "And then, I should send our condolences to the High Court in Maren."   


Lianne wasn't sure how she would taken the news. True, it gave her some breathing space, but it was also an unpleasant prolonging of the limbo in which she had found herself since she had been on marriageable age, as one more unpromising offer after another was mooted in front of her. 

What next? Somehow she doubted that even if the gods knew, they weren't going to be telling her.   
  


"First off, I find the timing very convenient indeed." Doors sealed, shields on the room, the Saren royals had a little privacy to discuss the situation. "King Barnesh's closest male relative, Lord Niall, finalised his vows in a particularly restrictive order not three weeks ago – ironically, the day that Barnesh announced his betrothal to Lianne." This was said with a significant raise of the King's eyebrow. 

"Making sure that there are as few rivals as possible to any children Barnesh might have had with Lianne," Kalasin finished, then shuddered at the thought of nieces and nephews who had Barnesh for a parent. 

"Exactly. Now, this is interesting. Guess who inherits now?" 

"Not that incompetent – Wertheim of – oh, I've forgotten…" 

"No, not him – he's descended from the maternal line. No, the new King-presumptive of Maren is our friend Samash, coincidentally married to one of Ris's mentors from her days at the Academy, dear old Nats who could never stand Bersone." 

"Oh Gods." Kalasin sat straight back up. "You don't mean…that it's been planned since…" 

"Oh no, I doubt it." Yevgen coaxed her back to her half-reclining position half sprawled across him. "Samash and Nats are the genuine article. _That _certainly wasn't planned. No, it probably didn't occur to anyone until Barnesh started throwing his weight around and acting the goat a bit too much this last year and a bit. That said, however, it was only a short step to realise that the next-closest heir not only wasn't particularly close to Barnesh in either thinking or familial feeling." He shrugged. "Of course, it's good for Nats too. She likes peace and quiet. A well-stocked library, a horse stud somewhere breeding saddle horses. She never liked the cut-throat politics of Bersone or the Service – and one doesn't get very high in either without having a real taste for it. My mother knew that when she granted Samash and Nats that fief on our western border – though Nats had to continue her duties for the Service as moves like that – that is, having her married to a foreign prince and then giving her property right on the very edge of the Empire – could all too easily play into the hands of any dissenters. Nat's family isn't particularly wealthy, but it's powerful – full of generals and bureaucrats – and it smacks suspiciously of getting her out of the way. Hence, she either had to continue in the Service – or have her other responsibilities so important that they appear an honour granted to her by the Empress." 

"Would…?" Kally began, but then thought the better of it. 

"Would Ris try to interfere in Maren?" Yevgen read her thoughts, though, she hoped, not literally. "I sincerely doubt that. She's got enough on her plate as it is. No, any interest she had finishes now that …it's well… less interesting…" he foundered as he realised just what had managed to sever her interest in Maren. Gamely, he ploughed on. "Politics back home is frequently lethal. Ris is comparatively inexperienced, and relatively unknown – there are any number of possible alternate heirs – Kay is only the most obvious. Ris also doesn't have much of a military record – and the problem is that Kay does – an extremely good one – and we've several older cousins who are equally prominent. What it means is that Ris can't show any signs of losing control anywhere – and a comparatively minor player like Barnesh, in a comparatively minor region such as – well – everything west of the Roof – isn't someone who should be kicking up the amount of fuss on the border as he had been. No, Ris won't care very much about Maren – or us, for that matter – and it's all for the good. Whatever it appears to be – Barnesh wasn't killed for making a fool of himself on our borders, for opening negotiations with Scanra, for oppressing his people, or even harassing Lianne. Barnesh was killed to keep Ris's head on her shoulders – and the Diadem around her head."   
  


Myles was frowning at the over-ornamented vellum. "Is something the matter, Sir?" Sir Owen of Jesslaw, arguably the only knight in the Kingdom of Tortall who could be cheerful with a broken arm, asked as he saw his old history teacher stare at the document for at least a minute. 

"No, not really," Myles voice was distant. "Sir Owen, if you please, could you have this note sent to Sir Gareth the Younger, please?" he scribbled something on the note and handed it to the younger knight. 

Unlike most knights, Owen didn't try to bully a page into doing the chore for him. He went searching for the Prime Minister himself. 

Besides, something interesting was afoot and he wasn't going to miss it.   
  
  


"Well, it's not unheard of…" Gary said dubiously. "Treaties do come up for review from time to time, you know, and a new monarch often wants to make sure that they're not going to have any nasty surprises left by their predecessor. It's just that they usually leave them in place for a bit longer than this – or else depart from it entirely…" 

"I wonder why Yevgen didn't bring it up while we were in Sarain," George commented, as he handed the parchment back to Myles. 

"He probably hasn't officially been told. Our trade agreements with Sarain are separate from those with the Empire proper." Gary told his old friend. 

"Well, what harm can there be to it?" 

They exchanged glances. Plenty.   
  
  


Dama Hypathia Lansherry had enjoyed a long and fruitful career in the Imperial Diplomatic Service – the part that really was diplomacy – not the more glamorous part that the younger knights found so much more enthralling. No, for Lansherry the joy of seeing two age-old foes agreeing to live side by side in peace, or even negotiating the means by which a few small villages could all share in the same water source so that they could all thrive, was much more rewarding, and certainly much more productive, than any wall-scaling, knife-throwing acrobatics the younger ones could turn out. She had settled in to her retirement now – she was, after all, not a young woman, or even a middle-aged one anymore – content in her wooded, green country estate, bursting with gardens, with the paddocks full of her second love – retired destriers whose masters had died in combat, and were too old for second careers. 

She had retired shortly after Rislyn had taken the Diadem. The ascension of a new Empress, after all, was a good an occasion as any to make a clean break. It was symbolic too, for Hypathia had served both Rislyn's mother and grandmother faithfully, and her departure from the Service only served to underline the generation shift that was taking place in all the Imperial institutions. 

Thus it was with some trepidation that she accepted the new Empress's plea for one last, minor, symbolic mission. 

"Please," Rislyn asked the older woman, "The lands west of the Roof are going to be important in the next few years. You know that. I know that. Unfortunately, most of the Service doesn't. Almost everyone else I trust not to make an idiot of themselves with the Tortallans and everyone else will either be interpreted as currying favour to one of the Houses, or blatant cronyism. Besides," Rislyn concluded with a wry twist to her mouth, "I don't think there's anyone with the sort of tolerance and patience you had with the Tortallans last time around anymore." 

"True enough," Lansherry agreed. "But, with all due respect, Imperatrix, it's only two years since the original treaties were signed. Are you in some way displeased with them?" 

"Oh no, no. Not at all," Rislyn moved quickly to reassure the diplomat. "I'm very satisfied with the existing arrangements. Only a few additional matters – tariffs on goods not already negotiation, clarification of arrangements for any alteration to tariffs – small things, like that." She paused, and then continued, knowing that she had to be fully frank with this, of all diplomats. "There's also a loose end about the Barnesh business that I don't like – his fiancée." 

"Princess Lianne – your sister-in-law, I believe?" Lansherry's voice was deceptively light. "I take it there are the usual concerns about any alliances the Tortallans might make – alliances that might influence your brother?" 

"Precisely. The boys are set – and there aren't any significant problems about any of the matches being proposed for them. No – for Lianne, it's Scanra or Copper Isles – Tusiane an outsider – none of them stable places. None of them places to which I want any connection with my family, no matter how tenuous. I'd like you to accept Kelvar Gavrillian as one of your aides when you go to Tortall." She finished abruptly. 

"Young Kelvar? He who is charming, handsome, and of unquestionable loyalty?" 

"Yes. I sent him to his sister when Radanae was in Sarain overseeing the construction of our new Embassy there. It appears that he and Lianne formed an attachment while they were there together – and it would certainly be very convenient for all of us if that attachment grew to something more." 

Dama Hypathia Lansherry left the audience with the Empress with even more reservations about her task than she had going in. From a glorious career as peacemaker, it appeared that she was now to play the role of matchmaker. 

It did not have any appeal whatsoever – well, except for that frivolous, fun-loving part of her she had thought had been left behind at the Academy.   


  



	22. A Second Chance

A Second Chance

Ordinarily, Lianne looked upon the arrival of yet another foreign delegation with either indifference or dread -–depending on whether they represented a royal family with an eligible male or not. But this time was different. It was the Imperials – _his_ people. The people who thought female knights were commonplace and arranged marriages a rarity. 

The people with whom she had spent such a wonderful Spring. 

She was not so hopeful to think that the delegation, which, such as those things usually were, would be made up of mainly older diplomats and guards, would be anywhere near as fun to be around as the reckless, ambitious young warrior-knights or the witty, urbane junior diplomats in Sarain, but at least they would be a good deal better humoured than the usual breed of visitor. 

With that in mind, she dressed carefully, in her favourite deep plum, and was more exacting than usual towards her maids as they fussed about her hair and her accessories. Finally ready, she made her way down the cold stone halls towards the reception room. 

She was late, for by the time she reached the Queen's Ballroom, all the preliminary introductions and ceremonies were over. There was a milling crowd circulating around the room with studied, deliberate movements, stopping now and then to exchange some vapid observation. She tried to blend in discretely, but her father caught her eye and summoned her over to where the Tortallan monarchs were holding court with the Ambassador and a few select courtiers. She recognised Dama Hyapthia Lansherry, who had represented the previous Empress here two years ago. There were other Imperials in the small group too, but only one caught her attention. At her approach, he made the full, formal deep bow, but even before he straightened up, she already knew who the young man who towered over his superior was. 

"Your Highness," the older woman's voice was tinged with a sort of restrained amusement. "I believe you've already met my secretary, Sir Kelvar Gavrillian."   
  
  


Radanae left Luana in the stables. Even in Bersone, where the nobles kept their finest horses, ink-eyed cream destriers with impeccable confirmation who stood over sixteen hands high attracted attention, whether it was wanted or not. Like most wealthy knights, she kept several equally impressive horses – a second destrier (blue roan Lucius), scouting horse (black Draco), two saddlehorses (greys Corvin and Anton), and three carriage horses (Lia, Ria, and Mia), who were a stunning matched set of bays, rotated so that one could rest while the others drew her chariot (if she was feeling impressive) or curricle (if she wanted to be comfortable). She passed by all their loose boxes, giving each an affectionate rub on the nose before the grooms took them out to the large enclosed paddock for the day, before heading for the one remaining box in the row of stalls she had commandeered in the Imperial stables. 

Gerard was a rather plain, stocky dun mountain pony, tall for the breed at a touch over fourteen hands, but certainly not a mount that any noble would admit to riding – save possibly as a 'schoolmaster' mount, and probably not even then, for any noble who still needed a schoolmaster pony by the time they were tall enough for Gerard would have opened themselves up for endless ridicule. At any rate, he was rather too independent for a proper child's mount anyway. Radanae tacked him up herself with equally nondescript gear, and led him out of the endless catacombed stables, and mounted up to head through the winding streets of the capital to a plain, rather pleasant cottage in one of the suburbs beyond the city walls.   
  
Situated in a quiet, respectable, lower-middle class area, much favoured by young families, unaristocratic, cash-strapped University students from the country, and determinedly independent elderly couples, it was a most unlikely headquarters for a specific branch of the Empress's intelligence office. Specifically, the branch that the rest of the intelligence office didn't know about. The branch that was assigned to gathering information on the Empress's favourite regions, parts of the world that the greater intelligence community did not think were very important. 

For Rislyn, and Vanaria before her, that part of the world chiefly consisted of the western frontier of the Empire, and the small, disparate kingdoms beyond it. Kingdoms that had been of no great interest – until a decade or so ago, with the reappearance and subsequent banishment of many Immortals – and now, with their increasingly dangerous and unstable governments. Few courtiers noted the significance of the previous Empress marrying her only son into one of the more powerful families west of the Roof and virtually giving him a kingdom of his own, save to move an ambitious scion away from the Imperial powerbase. Even fewer considered the likely advantages of having such an intelligent, powerful scion situated near the said regions of interest. 

"Good morning," Radanae took care to treat it as just any call one might pay among friends (she was dressed as a fairly typical University student), at least until the door was firmly barred. "I take it that the situation in Scanra is worse than we'd feared?" 

"If you can say that," Livania Kelay, who led this small team, answered her grimly. "Maggur has officially be crowned King. There's no telling what his next step is." Radanae shot the other knight a look. "Well, yes, invading neighbours and all that. We all know his ultimate aim. Our unfortunate wildcard is those metallic machines of his. Not even Kyra is nutty enough to dream up anything like that." 

"No." Radanae was forced to agree on that point. 

"What we really need, Dama," Livania spoke bluntly, "is access to more high level information. I know that the Palace has been most accommodating on the issue of observation authorisations and such, but now, we need more than simply knowledge of those meetings and communications. We need the substance, not just the gist of their doings. It's getting very close to the time that we're going to have to be active in the area if we're not to see an irritating distraction in the west in the short term. We won't be able to simply watch from the sidelines for very much longer. I fear that we're going to require more …shall we say, proactive agents dispatched to that area – whether its from this division or the main one." She paused for a second, then, with a wry grin, added, "and more resources would be nice too."   
  


Yevgen read the polite, official letter. Then reread it. Finally, he gave up trying to work out what his friend was trying to communicate through a scribe's immaculate copperplate and tore open a much grubbier piece of correspondence that displayed only a small, dirty bit of wax rather than a proper seal. The plain ink and even plainer print was much easier on the eyes than the extravagant swirls and metallic dust that characterised Imperial missives. Even if it was in code. He sighed and reached for some scrap paper on which to do his rough workings. 

_Yevgen,___

_I sent off the official letter two weeks ago so it should reach you about now. Since then, we've received some very disturbing news, which should make the contents of the first letter even more relevant. To be blunt, Maggur Rathushak is now King of Scanra for real, and should be making inroads into his neighbours soon. Thought you'd like to know. We'd also appreciate it if you don't receive any embassies from him until we've sorted things out at his end.___

_Radanae___

_P.S. That thing with my brother and your sister-in-law is getting interesting, I hear. As ludicrous as it seems, we may be related soon._

The King of Sarain sat back in his study chair, a perplexed look on his face, and a thousand thoughts running through his head. The letter from Radanae was not particularly sensitive – it could have come through the usual way, with her personal seals and her own handwriting, uncoded, and still would not have raised undue attention in any modern intelligence service. No self-respecting diplomatic service would dream of allowing another to establish formal relations with their government without the informal ones already securely in place. Then again, he had realised that while the intelligence and diplomatic services in the west were adequate, they didn't begin to approach the sophistication of their Imperial counterparts – a fact for which he was truly grateful. While he had done reasonably well in the compulsory studies of diplomacy at the Academy, and believed that he had made a fairly good impression as King of Sarain thus far, he wasn't so confident that he'd have fared quite so well if Sir Myles of Olau and his counterparts had the same access to the finances, infrastructure and training that the Imperial Diplomatic Service took for granted. 

The news from Scanra did merit his concern, but it was hardly unexpected. He was fairly sure that there was something else – something not explicitly mentioned in either the official or personal messages – something important. 

"Yevgen?" Kalasin was enough to distract anyone. "Callum told me that you were in here. Would you prefer to be alone?" 

"Oh, well, no, no. Come in. Just a letter." He stood up hastily, then found a chair for her. She was visibly pregnant now (though only to someone who knew how athletic she was – to put it unkindly, to others, she looked like any spoilt aristocratic darling with a fondness for chocolates), and rather annoyed that she'd had to give up her morning rides, restrict herself to gentler exercise, and wear high-waisted dresses she claimed made her look like a toddler. 

He handed both pieces of parchment to her (he'd annotated the less-formal missive). She read them carefully, then calmly asked. "So, when should we expect them?" 

"Expect who?" 

Kalasin made an impatient noise. "Rislyn's spies, of course. I assume they'll be passing through to empty our cellars before they head off to Scanra and everywhere else." 

He gaped at her. Kalasin shook her head with an amused smile. "Sometimes, dear, you are just so delightfully male. Blind as the lot of them."   
  


"I am most sorry to hear of the death of your fiancé, Highness," Kelvar was ever polite. "May I offer my condolences?" 

"You don't mean it one bit, do you?" Lianne snapped. She was perfectly well aware that his superior had subtly arranged to have him oh-so-casually escort her around the garden, while the Ambassador herself was engaged in a 'sensitive' discussion with King Jonathan, Queen Thayet and a couple of other notables by the water fountain. 

"No, not really," he admitted, then gave her an indecipherable sideways glance. 

There was a moment of awkward silence. "Have you heard from your sister?" she asked at last. 

"Yes, I have. She's back in Bersone now, and not likely to leave for some time. However, she has instructed me, on pain of having my guts wrapped around a blackberry-bush, to convey to you her very best wishes for your health." A pause. "I hope that your sister is in good health?" 

"I believe she is." 

They continued in this very unsatisfying vein for quite some time.   
  


"Do you think we should go to Samash and Natseyah's coronation?" Kalasin asked as she read through a particularly tedious piece of legislation. 

Yevgen looked up at her worriedly from his equally boring draft trade agreement with Galla. "Ah…Kalasin…not to be indelicate, but…ahem…would it be a little too tiring for you then?" 

It took her a fraction of a second to understand his meaning. "It's not that far off. I'm hardly going to go into labour on their Temple floor. Anyway, we've agreed that the baby is to be born here." 

Yevgen didn't look comforted. "It's not just that. I mean…if the worse comes to the worst, you're hardly going to be able to run for cover as easily." 

"You think that they'll be trouble?" While Kally had thought of the possibility, she was curious about Yevgen's reasoning behind it. 

"Most likely." He sighed, and laid the documents aside, not even bothering to maintain the pretence of reading them. "The Marenite elite are up in arms. Samash has never been particularly well-liked by the establishment, though, not surprisingly, he does have a considerable amount of more popular support. With so few other heirs and Samash seemingly out of the way in our west, some of the noble houses might have thought it was time for them to try and establish a new dynasty." 

"Hence the very hasty coronation. I take it there are rumblings about it being planned the day after official mourning ends." 

"Inevitably. Samash and Nats are in the capital already, of course, as are most of his followers. Neither Ris nor I thought it was a good idea for either of us to openly send help unless it's really needed. You were particularly nauseous then. I didn't want to disturb you." He looked at her apologetically. 

"Is there much concern about Nats? Or about Samash and the years he's been here?" 

"Of course. It's the easiest attack for them. The only thing that gives most people reservations about him. No one denies that he's a skilled warrior and shrewd diplomat who has every promise of being a fine King – but they do look askance at a Queen who's a knight, and comes from a land and people completely foreign." He sighed. 

"Does Nats know?" 

"I assume so. She's astute enough to have guessed." He ran his fingers through his hair. Here in the privacy of their bedroom, he could put aside his normally strict standards of dress, preferring comfort in the form of close-fitting twill trousers in a style that Kally had seen only recently favoured by younger knights for relaxing or heavy work (she liked them because they were rather flattering on him) and baggy overtunic. "It's not just that." Yevgen looked a little uneasy. "For a lot of conservatives, Bersone is starting to look a mite over-eager. Two years – first Sarain, then us," he stopped to raise her hand in a not-quite-mock formal salute, "now Nats and Maren. After so many centuries of complete and utter indifference save for a few spice caravans to Carthak, so many seemingly connected events must necessarily make them nervous. Many of them might see the Maren coronation as an opportunity to check apparent Imperial expansion." 

Kalasin blamed her pregnancy for not being able to work her way around it straight away. "You think that we'll be targets too?" 

He shrugged. "Always possible. We've always known that." Quite. Ever since an Imperial obsessed with securing the succession for Rislyn had tried to kill them at their wedding, they had known that there were plenty of people on both sides of the Roof not happy with Imperial foreign policy. 

"So you think I can't take care of myself?" Kally was slowly rising to anger as she realised his true hesitation for attending the coronation. Usually, there would have been no question of it unless some emergency arose. Both Samash and Natseyah were good and faithful friends, and their few extra years and experience made them almost mentors to the young monarchs. 

"I think you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself," Yevgen responded easily and quickly. Not a hasty, insincere defence like one even a comparatively enlightened Tortallan male would have made, but one that was heartfelt. "But I have, forgive me, no idea what manner of plots might be in place aside from the obvious, and even less idea what defences might be necessary." He looked away. "To be blunt, if worst comes to worst, we won't be able to run as quickly. We have more than ourselves to worry about now," he knelt before her chair and placed a gentle hand on her abdomen. "Kalasin. I have absolutely no doubt that you're more than able to hold your own in a brawl. But if anything comes, it won't be a brawl, it won't be a polite duel. Even though I should hope that everyone knows what the consequences would be if anything should happen to you, there will always be fools wishing to tempt fate." Oh yes. Kalasin had guessed it – even before she had known that his feelings for her were far deeper than mere friendship and partnership – that should 'anything' happen to her, whoever responsible was going to find a slow, painful death the very least of their worries. He was a fiercely loyal friend. He was even more so as lover and husband, little did he chose to show it on the surface. 

Dark, serious eyes met, blue to brown. "It will be dangerous." Yevgen said after a short silence. 

"Life is." 

It was really enough serious discussion for one go. Kally wrenched her mind away from such depressing possibilities, though they would always be there, at the back of both their minds. There was no escaping from it, no matter have frivolous their chatter, no matter how delightful other pursuits might be, such events were an inevitable part of their lives. They could no more put them aside than renounce their thrones, their responsibilities, their very natures. It was part and parcel of a life they had both been born to, both been raised to. Lives in which they would still govern responsibly and well, even if it was to be alone or with someone they detested, but a life that was infinitely sweeter now that they shared it. 

"So it's decided then," Yevgen pulled away just as the silence began to roar in their ears. "I'll inform the Guard and get someone to arrange the presents…"   
  


"I don't understand it at all!" Lianne raged as she slammed her bedroom door behind her. "Why is he here? I can't believe that it's by his own choice – or mere chance. I can't believe that an Empress who probably regards all the Eastern Lands as a largish dukedom is so concerned about my alliances that she keeps matchmaking me by sending one of her highest-ranking nobles around after me. If she was so interested, why hasn't she just come right out and made an offer for me?" Suddenly becoming aware that talking aloud to oneself is the first sign of insanity, Lianne momentarily checked her pacing and flung herself onto her bed. 

Not to sleep, though. She hadn't managed to sleep well in months (well, save for a few dream-filled nights in Sarain), and she wasn't so optimistic that tonight would be any exception.   



	23. Misunderstandings in Maren

Misunderstandings in Maren

King Samash and Queen Natseyah of Maren. 

Lianne turned those names over in her mind. They sounded well enough, though rather strange. How close it had come to King Barnesh and Queen Lianne. She shuddered. For all her studious indifference – or what most of the Council called 'maturity' – the very possibly made her retch. It was odd to remember Natseyah – witty, full of life and humour – taking charge of the famously dull Marenite Court, stuffy even by conservative Tortallan standards. She did not know Samash well, for her had spent most of his time at Court either with his cousin (who everyone could tell he didn't like much) or with Yevgen and Kalasin, rather than her. At any rate, he wasn't Barnesh, and he was already married, and to a woman who would do more than simply kick up a fuss if he tried for a divorce without her consent, and as such, he was not Lianne's concern. 

At this early hour, she was alone in the gardens. Had she been like Kalasin and preferred the stables as a place to think and reflect, she would have been frequently interrupted and disturbed by other early birds coming to take their horses for exercise. All the others who liked the gardens – her mother's ladies (with a small 'l') mainly – would not dream of getting up for hours yet. 

It was clear – very clear, if the events in Sarain had not told her otherwise – that someone wanted her to form an alliance with Kelvar Gavrillian. 'Someone', of course, being someone fairly high-ranking in the Empire, possibly even the Empress herself. Of Kelvar himself, things were less clear. Though he had stated that he was simply following orders to the…well, letter…Lianne had a great deal of difficulty believing that a member of a family as powerful as the Gavrillians were, would really do something they were absolutely set against, oaths or not. Or that any new monarch who intended to last would be so foolhardy as to dictate the personal life of a member of such a family. No, that was not it. Even though she was not privy to high-level intelligence discussions on other monarchs, she could not believe that of someone who could rule such a huge empire was foolhardy in the least, despite conservative rumblings about the Empress's gender and age (Lianne had only met Rislyn briefly at Kalasin's coronation, but knew that the Empress wasn't all that much older than her siblings). 

The stone bench was there more for drama (and a place to sit while some fool sprouted a long-winded marriage proposal) than any real comfort, but it was better than the dew-spotted grass. 

She was to go to the coronation of the new Marenite monarchs. It was couched as an expression from Tortall that they were determined to maintain friendly relations with Maren even if a Tortallan princess would no longer be Queen there. More cynically, it was an opportunity for other suitors to meet her and perhaps offer more tempting bids. It was going to be like this until she was engaged, Lianne thought in a resigned manner. She didn't know what was worse – having hordes of unsavoury slobbering old sods after you, or no one at all. It was simply the life of a noblewoman in the Eastern and Southern Lands. There were a very few exceptions – and none of them were princesses. It did no good to dwell on lands beyond the Roof, where princesses did as they pleased (or at least looked like they were having a jolly good time anyway), and female knights could swear and slouch around – even though she knew that her view was probably ridiculously idealistic and there were probably just as many unhappy female Imperial knights as there were Tortallan noblewomen. Of course, there were a lot more female Imperial knights than Tortallan noblewomen, but she chose not to think of that. 

The quiet rustle of a footstep on the grass caught her attention. She decided not to ask who it was. She knew. He was everywhere these days, though he appeared to consciously avoid talking about anything but the most trivial pleasantries. She knew better than the ask what Kelvar Gavrillian was doing in the gardens this morning, not because he would lie, but because she didn't want to hear the answer.   
  
  


"Who else is going to the coronation?" Kalasin lolled on the bed, feeling deliciously decadent in the slippery satin sheets even in the stifling summer heat. 

"The usual suspects – Crown Prince of Galla, some Duke from Tusaine who seems to have got the job only because he's the only one of the appropriate rank who isn't interested in trying to shove Queen Simper and the Royal Brat off their perches (neither of them particularly liked the new regime in Tusaine), your brother and his wife, of course, and Lianne." 

The tiny, much crumpled scraps of paper scattered across the bedcovers had come by messenger-pigeon, and were nearly illegible. Late at night, and in the privacy of their rooms, they discussed the likely significance of each representative from the Eastern and Southern Lands. 

Kalasin hadn't quite managed to recover from seeing her husband with his reading glasses for the first time. They looked rather fetching on him, though she wondered why she hadn't seen them before and said so aloud. 

"Well…I hardly ever need them ," he'd said, almost embarrassed as he whipped them off (he'd thought she was asleep). "Only when it's like this – late, with 'normal' light," he gestured at the candles and lamps, inadequate for the tiny, smudged writing, "…with legibility problems, and when I can't use magic…" 

Not knowing how their different magical heritages might blend, they had decided that he would not use his powers around Kally until the baby until it was born, just in case there were complications. 

"Anyone from Bersone?" she asked, not even bothering to attempt the smudges in the dim light. 

"Hypathia Lansherry is finishing up in Tortall soon," he told her, "I suppose she might accompany Roald and Shinkokami to Maren. If Kelvar and Lianne have made any progress at all, I should guess that someone will insist upon it."   
  
  
  


They hadn't made much progress. There were many polite conversations in the gardens, in the Ballroom, in corridors. Lianne watched him best the flower of Tortallan chivalry in the practice yards, and he watched her during Court receptions. 

Watching. Waiting. Wanting.   
  
  
  


The Marenite capital was boring. There was no other word for it. Not the exquisite temples and majestic Palace of Corus, not the wildly experimental architecture and glistening newness in Sarain, but dull, mud-coloured sandstone, and a great deal of it. Kalasin sighed as she looked out at the unpromising view from their guest suite in the Maren Palace. She wished that she could adopt the short, sleeveless tunic and sandals so favoured by the Imperials in hot weather, but knew this was impossible in famously hidebound Maren. 

The Coronation was scheduled for the next day. Not a moment too soon for Kally, for, if she remembered the reams of advice from the various Healers and midwives fluttering around the place, the baby would start moving soon, and she did not want to be still on the road when that happened, for all that the journey had been uneventful. She was, of course, happy to see Roald, Shinko, and Lianne again, not to mention meeting her little nephew, Jonathan after his grandfather, but things were different now. Not so with Lianne, not as much, but with Roald. No matter how much they pretended that they were still the same as they were before Kalasin had married, there was a barrier now. A subtle one, one that she suspected that neither of them had even contemplated before now, but there none the less. No longer the (comparatively) carefree young nobles, with only the distant promise of future responsibilities, they met no longer just as brother and sister, but Queen and Crown Prince of sovereign states. It made a difference, little as they might care to admit it. 

Shinko looked well. Kally wondered if Shinko, like herself, was grateful for the fate that the Gods had sent her. Bartered off for political gain, like so many other noblewomen, but finding a place, finding that her chosen partner was not so disagreeable, finding happiness for herself. Kalasin knew her brother well enough to discern that his feelings for his wife ran deeper than mere courtesy and duty, and she was glad for them. Perhaps there was not the intense, burning fire that had made the marriages of their parents and paternal grandparents legendary throughout the Lands, but there was love there. 

A love that she was seriously beginning to doubt that Lianne would find. True, Kelvar Gavrillian was somehow among the Imperials escorting the Ambassador to the Coronation, and Roald had said that Kelvar had spent time with Lianne in Corus, he was now nowhere to be seen.   
  
  


If Crown Prince Roald of Conté could be said to have inherited anything from his namesake, it was his calm. Quiet and restrained, he nonetheless radiated an aura of dignified power and regality, even seemingly walking alone through the streets of the Maren capital. He wasn't quite so foolish to do so for real, of course, but his bodyguards followed discreetly. They were getting near the toystore that soon-to-be-King Samash had mentioned carelessly, when Roald had admired when soon-to-be-Queen Natseyah had presented little Jonathan with a whole chestful of toys to amuse himself with. He could have ordered a thousand toys, sent a hundred servants to fetch them, but this was something he wanted to do for his son. Something that every parent should be able to do, King or peasant, so Roald went out, dressed as a well-off merchant, to visit a toy-seller. Some members of his guard were amused, some approving, but all were discreet as they followed him through the entertainment district where the shop was located. It was the one area that the capitol was not dreary and dull, with theatres and entertainers lining the streets. There were opulent houses that Roald commented on out loud until his embarrassed guard-captain informed him that they were brothels and courtesans' apartments. Roald flushed a dark red at that, but then went even darker as he saw a familiar tall figure slip out the door of one of the most impressive of the houses. 

He wore a hat to cover his distinctive pale-blonde hair, and was dressed as unobtrusively as Roald was, but there was no mistaking his brother-in-law. The Crown Prince felt himself burn with fury and indignation for his sister. So, she was pregnant – but gods, did her husband have so little regard for propriety that he would call upon a common prostitute even on a state visit? And Yevgen – coming from a land of Empresses, of female knights – did he have so little respect for the opposite sex? 

Feeling himself about to explode, he motioned to his guards and retreated into a side street to calm himself. What he saw next did nothing to help. First, Kelvar Gavrillian, who had been paying Lianne such (to Roald) persistent attentions during the Imperials' visit and even on the journey here, and then, just when he had raised to himself the possibility that it was nothing more than perhaps a private gathering of the Imperials away from the possibility of spies at the Palace, a woman emerged. There was no doubt what her occupation was. In Maren, where the women were as drab as sparrows and covered themselves from neck to ankle, with veils over their hair, she stood out like a pearl in mud. Tall, curvaceous, with gold-blonde hair and exquisitely beautiful features, she glided down the front stairs in a flowing blue gown. His worst fears confirmed, a furious Prince of Tortall started back to the Palace to confront his brother-in-law, King or not. Regrettably, Jon's toy would have to wait. 

Roald's bodyguard stumbled to keep up with him.   
  
  


A quick question to a passing page confirmed that King Yevgen had indeed returned, and was currently in the apartments assigned to the Imperials. Knowing that, Roald set off immediately, barely noticing Lianne until he ran into her. 

"What is it, Roald? You look awful!" she exclaimed. 

"I saw King Yevgen before." He forced it out between his teeth. "In the City. Coming out of a …" he faltered, realising even in his fury that he was speaking to his younger sister. 

She guessed. "Oh Gods. I don't believe it." she gasped. "I was sure…in Sarain…that…" she looked at her brother. "There's something else too," it was a statement. "Something about me." 

"No..." Roald was never a good liar, and certainly not when he was agitated, and not to his siblings. ""Kelvar Gavrillian too." He said, at last. 

Lianne paled. "I thought…I thought… he might genuinely…" 

"I'm going to see them now," Roald interrupted, starting off again. Lianne followed after him.   
  


The Marenite Guard let them in without an announcement or a sound. Roald frowned, but did not object. It was all to the good. The probed gently with his Gift. There were magical protections on the rooms, but no mundane ones. Such carelessness seemed uncharacteristic, but he had no objections, as he shielded both himself and Lianne from notice. He heard voices coming from a sitting room. 

"…and she's also expanded the Display." It was a female voice, somewhat familiar, with an Imperial accent. 

"Oh, how?" that was Yevgen. 

"Let's just say that if we'd graduated this year, you'd have had to do it. Top twenty." the woman sounded disgusted. 

"Justinia, is it a one-off or permanent?" Kelvar Gavrillian's voice sounded shocked. 

"She says it's a one-off, but I doubt it. It was very well received by the audience." 

"How many?" 

"Almost five hundred." 

The men gave audible sharp intakes of breath. 

"Down to moderate drug-runners, people-smugglers and armed robbers." Justinia continued. "Three hours." 

"Gods." Kelvar breathed. As Imperials were practically atheists, it said a lot for his shock. 

"The sand had to be changed twice because the blood made it too soft for the destriers' feet. But people cheered even the body-cart, they were so consumed with blood-lust." 

"I know Ris needs the mob, but that's ridiculous!" Yevgen exploded. "She's a good Empress, she doesn't need the stunts!" 

"She's a competent Empress, Yevgen. An intelligent one. A responsible one. A talented ruler and General. But, forgive me Yevgen, but as likeable, charming, and clever as your sister is, she's got the charisma of a heel of mouldy bread." 

"You think I don't know that?" he asked sourly. "There's a reason all the alternate heirs that do have it are flung as far from Bersone as possible, or are in high-risk situations. The only one in the capital is Ingridine at the Central Bank and she makes Ris look like a Republican General." 

"That's why no one in the capital thinks it makes sense. Kay's worried. It doesn't sound like any of the Councillors' doing, and it's certainly not Radanae's – reports have her leaving the Gavrillian Box every ten minutes to puke, by the way – and Ris is doing very well otherwise." 

"It's probably just trying to gauge support." Kel offered. "Blood-sport does that, at little real cost to Rislyn herself. It is the first Display since her coronation. Support she has, but I think she wants to try and get support for her sake now, and blood is the easiest way to do it – and the Display is cheaper than wars or a succession of little tournaments." 

"True." Yevgen agreed. "The people support her for the sake of mother's memory. The Swords support her for Kay's sake. The great nobles support her for their own sakes, and the minor ones for the great." 

A moment of quiet, when Roald considered barging in, before he and Lianne heard something that stopped them cold. 

"How is it with you and Princess Lianne of Tortall, Kel?" Justinia sounded as though she was consciously trying to change the subject. 

"What with me and Princess Lianne?" he sounded self-mocking. "She's polite to me, but unfortunately she found out about Ris's orders before we were saying more than 'Good morning' when we were in Sarain." 

"Unfortunate. Does Kalasin say anything about it, Ev?" 

"You know I'm not going to break her confidences, Jussie. Don't try." 

Roald muttered something under his breath that Lianne could not hear. But what the Saren King said next was even more astounding. 

"In one sense it's just as well, Kel, that you didn't get very far with her. She's a sweet girl, and I wouldn't want to see her hurt. Even if she never finds out, do you think it will be easy for you to live a life together with people suspecting that you killed her fiancé to have her?" 

Roald and Lianne looked at each other in shock. 

"Come now, Kel. I'm hardly stupid. Something was going on a few months ago, and it didn't take a genius to put it all together. Did you?" 

"You know I'm not allowed to tell. Anyway, his Majesty died of a heart attack." 

"And considering that there are upwards of half-a-dozen common drugs which can give the same effect? One of which, taken in small doses by a younger male knight has a very different effect than taken in a massive dose by a gouty old man with clotted arteries? A particular drug that you've been taking since you were thirteen? The one that I stopped taking two years ago? I'm just curious on that point, Kel." 

"Curiosity kills cats. And princes." The cool voice was no threat. Merely a statement of fact.   
  
  


Learning far more than they ever wanted to, and without even a chance to raise the issue that had been pressing Roald's mind, they silently left the room. Confrontations would have to wait until another day.   
  
  
  


Coronation Day. Bright, but unexpectedly cold. Crowds gathered to see the crowning of the new King and Queen, completely blocking up the huge double doors that lead to the Great Hall. Samash had been well-loved by the people – certainly more than his cousin had been, and there were curious eyes – not all disapproving – turned towards his Queen, the female knight from a distant land, who was looking disappointingly unknightly in her formal robe as she stood before the Priest and Priestess. 

Roald studied his brother-in-law as they sat among the guests of honour. Yevgen treated Kalasin with all the respect due her station, and, had Roald not observed him coming out of a particular house the day before, he would have guessed genuine affection. Part of him realised it was silly. Not all marriages of state were as happy as his and Shinko's – that despite their polite exterior and impending child Kally and Yevgen might not even be that close. The other part, the outraged-older-brother part, was still furious. He had not managed to get his brother-in-law alone yet, but when he did, he was certainly going to give him a piece of his mind. When they had met two years ago in Tortall, he would never have suspected Yevgen capable of such betrayal. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that it was not until Shinko beside him cried out that he saw the gleam of the knife in the Priest's hand, the Priestess shrieking, Samash diving towards the newly-crowned Natseyah who knelt in shock as the knife descended…. 

And the Priest dropped, crossbow bolt through his throat. The not-so-useless ornamental knife falling to the stone floor as the new Queen scrambled out of the way, still dazed at the unexpected attack. The King was immediately beside her, reassuring himself that she was unhurt. 

"Archers! To me!" a clear, female voice rang out over the rapidly rising tide of panic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yevgen push Kalasin to the floor, shielding her with his body. Roald himself did the same to a half-protesting Shinkokami. "You! Seal the doors. Right, the next person to move goes the same way as the High Priest!" 

Everyone froze at the clear command. Soldiers and guards billowed out, most very sheepish and distinctly guilty-looking members of the Marenite Royal Guard, who were trying hard not to meet their new King's eyes (if he could look anywhere else but his wife), but a few moved in a more confident, more professional manner. High above them, on a sort of ledge where there were windows placed high to let in air and light, were short-bow archers and crossbowmen, weapons primed. 

Roald finally caught a glimpse of who was giving the orders and nearly keeled over in shock (he couldn't since he was on the floor). It was the courtesan he had seen yesterday, but dressed almost as a noblewoman, though no respectable Marenite noblewoman would have worn her bodice so low. 

She moved quickly past them. "Nats? Are you alright?" she asked, walking to the Queen. She waved a hand, and some of the Marenite Royal Guard and the outsiders who wore the same uniforms started to search the room, while others ushered the watchers out. Roald helped Shinko to her feet, grateful that Jon had thrown a tantrum this morning and had to be left behind with his nurse and a cadre of devoted bodyguards. He noticed that Kelvar Gavrillian was doing the same for Lianne, who was dusting her skirts, not daring to meet his gaze. 

The beautiful courtesan was still giving orders. Roald had long since given up thinking that she was a courtesan alone by the time she came over to them. By then, the hall was cleared, a panicking Gallan noblewoman was sedated, and the elderly Tusaine ducal representative had woken from him nap demanding what was going on and whether the coronation feast had started yet. 

Yevgen still had his arms protectively around Kalasin, hovering as she performed a minute check on their unborn child. Apparently, nothing was wrong, as they both broke into relieved smiles. He turned to the newcomer. "Oh, all right, you were right." Yevgen admitted grumpily. He obviously knew the woman well. Roald felt his fists clench as he made his way closer. 

"By the by, I don't think you've met, since you couldn't come to the wedding or the coronation. My lady, your Highnesses," this last encapsulated Roald, Shinkokami, and Lianne, "might I have the honour to present Dama Yelizabeta Delmaran, of the Empress's Swords. My cousin." He added, with a very quick look at Roald, who felt his face lose colour.__

_He knows I saw him. He probably knew we were listening_. Roald realised. _And he wanted us to know that Kelvar might have killed Barnesh. But is that for the Empire, for us – or for him?_   
__


	24. The End of it All (for now)

The End of it All (for now)

"What a day." Kalasin snuggled up against Yevgen's shoulder as he leant back to snuff out the lamp. The bed wasn't as comfortable as the one they shared at home, but it was better than the camp beds they'd endured on the journey here (not wanting to sample the questionable hospitality afforded by inns) "You've never told me about your cousin," she said. 

"Haven't I? Well, Lizzie and I aren't all that close. Technically, she's actually my mother's cousin - she's about ten years older than me, give or take, since younger princesses are _strongly encouraged_ to delay plans for children until at least their nieces are in the Academy, and Lizzie has several older sibs. I think I might have pointed Ingridine out when we were in Bersone – at any rate, she's the Governor of the Central Bank – she's Lizzie's eldest sister. I'm told they used to take me sailing – which probably explains my disgraceful condition on water. They're racing-yacht fanatics – if you've never seen one, they're basically two bits of wood and an oversized sail – when they're in port they'll go out in any weather, heedless of things like coming back." 

Kally giggled as she visualised the image of the immaculately presented Yelizabeta or the sober, serious Ingridine soaking wet in a howling storm. She felt him smile as he wrapped an arm tighter around her. "What were you doing to my brother before?" she asked. "He went completely white." 

"Oh. That. Yesterday Lizzie sent a message asking me to see her urgently – it was about what happened today – wanted to get some clarification on just who was performing the ceremony and how she could sneak some more guards in for Nats – they're good friends. I thought she was being paranoid. I was wrong. As to your brother – well – he saw me coming out of the house she's rented – and since the identity she's chosen for herself while she's here is the most expensive and fashionable courtesan in the city…" 

Kally gasped. 

"Yes, exactly. I have absolutely no doubts what he was planning on doing to me once he managed to get me alone." 

Kalasin was laughing again. "Oh poor Roald!" 

"It gets worse. She asked for Kelvar too, so that he would be ready if she needed more muscle to protect the Ambassador. Oddly enough, if it wasn't for Justinia being here old Aunt – well, honorary aunt - Patsy would left to fend for herself. He was more concerned about Lianne, even though the girl was more likely to get bruises from that great lump knocking her to the ground that anything else." There was an affectionate amusement in his voice. 

"That reminds me – Justinia? I thought she was a fighter. What's she doing here?" 

"Officially, she's just passing through to convey Ris and Kay's formal congratulations on the Coronation on her way to Scanra to replace a member of the Honour Guard of our Envoy there." 

"Unofficially?" Kally probed, knowing what Yevgen usually mean when he used the word 'official'. 

He sighed. "I'm not sure. I have my suspicions, though, and I'd like to think that they're unfounded." 

"Why?" 

"Because of the other career that Jussie trained for. The one she would have taken if Kay hadn't asked her to be her aide." 

"What's that?" 

He held her closer, and brought his lips to her ear. She felt his breath, soft and gentle as a butterfly's caress, more than she heard his voice, though the words seemed very loud in the silence of the room. 

"She's an assassin." 

Kalasin froze, and only relaxed when he started to gently trace the graceful lines of her spine and nuzzle the perfect spot just below her ear. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she said grumpily, at length, "so many of you seem to be." 

"Lots of us are," he muttered into her hair, "most of the Service, certainly all the Swords – which is why I'm a little surprised that she's here. There are plenty already in this part of the world with lots more experience than her, and it's unlikely to be me she's after – they do try not to ask people to kill their friends. It's very unprofessional." 

"You know I hate it when you make a joke of it," Kally told him fiercely, "it's not funny." The threat was always over them. Knowing that there would always be someone wanting them dead, knowing that there were always people who were able to kill them, and simply hoping that the two weren't one and the same. 

"No, it's not," Yevgen soothed, running gentle hands down her back again, "but her presence here certainly is." 

Kalasin was only mildly placated. There was something else, something that Yevgen had said. "You said that the Swords were assassins…" she trailed off. 

"It's never said aloud, it's certainly not part of the official job description, but they do eliminate inconveniences for the Empresses…" 

"So when you said before that Ris had Barnesh killed … so the Swords would have done that? Is that why your cousin was here? Fights over a courtesan…was that her?" 

"Yes, probably, no idea." Yevgen answered all three questions in quick succession. He exhaled audibly. "I also let your brother and sister overhear some of our – that is Kelvar, Justinia's and my – conversation today. Just so you're not caught off-guard – I let them hear of our suspicions about Barnesh. Kelvar is a Sword, remember." 

"You think he did it." It wasn't a question. 

"I have no way of knowing." Yevgen admitted. "I have a suspicion that he was here at the relevant time – but so were, I would guess, several other members of the Swords, and they might have been placed anywhere. Kelvar – tends to stand out a tad too much and there are no reports of anyone fitting his description at Court – might have been involved in – say some of the brawls, or accidents – but probably not Barnesh himself. From what reports that we do have – the heart attack and bath – it's likely that the heart attack may have been induced by any one of half-a-dozen drugs, including one that is very common in Bersone, and then whoever was charged with the task simply shoved him under the water to make sure of him. I would guess a personal servant of some sort." 

"Should we be worried about listeners?" Kally asked worriedly 

"I've shields up for everything." Yevgen reassured her. "Anyone eavesdropping on us will only hear us … well…." Kally swore she could feel him blush. But then, curiosity getting the better of her asked, "Why would a drug like that be common? I mean, who would be so stupid to get high on it?" 

There was a momentary silence before Yevgen answered her. "No, not like that – it's not really a recreational drug, I suppose though it depends on your definition of 'recreational'. In massive doses, on an older person with a weakened heart and blocked arteries, it does induce a heart attack. It's perfect as it is well nigh undetectable even a few hours after death However, in a male below about thirty-five; it's a very effective contraceptive. Most male knights take it from their mid-teens or earlier." he added unnecessarily, as Kally understood that he had probably taken it for several years before they'd married, and was the drug that he'd referred to when she had confessed her worries about children. "I have no idea what the women take – but it's something similar. We don't have enough magic around to use charms the way that Easterners do." 

Kally's mother had given her such a charm – long ago – when she was annoyed at Kally's father about the entire arranged-marriage business. She had explained some things that she had thought she would never have to explain to her daughters, that, if worst came to worst, they would have no more children than they absolutely had to. It had lain, never used, at the bottom of her jewellery box, for the last two years.   
  
  


Roald decided that there was something a little unnerving about Yelizabeta Delmaran. She was extremely beautiful, but in such a precise, mathematically proportionate way that she seemed somehow inhuman. Though he didn't know it, it was roughly the same effect his mother would have had at the same age, without the strong bones – though no one looking at Yelizabeta would ever have thought her weak. 

They were in the private quarters of the new Maren monarchs for an informal supper after the sheer boredom of the official ceremonies that followed the coronation itself. Marenites, it seemed, were exacting in their requirements to complete all the trappings that went with any occasion, no matter what distractions there might be. He, Shinko and Lianne were the only Tortallans in the room. Of the other guests, there were several members of what passed as the progressive clique among the Marenite nobility, those who supported Samash, and Queen Natseyah's Imperial friends, though the Ambassador had pled exhaustion and retired, dragging her reluctant secretary away with her. To his surprise, neither Kalasin nor Yevgen was in appearance (though much to his relief – he was grateful that he hadn't interrupted his brother-in-law yesterday, for, not only would he not have learned about Kelvar Gavrillian's previous visits to Maren, he would also have been severely embarrassed. He knew enough about the Imperials to remember their strict prohibitions on consanguinity would make his suspicions about Yevgen and Yelizabeta the previous day completely ludicrous. 

"We have managed to locate and arrest the ringleaders, Sire," one of the Marenites was trying to placate a visibly seething Samash. "A small group, mainly minor nobles and merchants who have gained positions of considerable advantage under your late cousin in recent months and are concerned about the effect of the Queen Consort will have on those privileges…" he trailed off, not knowing how to continue. Those who had profited from Barnesh's paranoia about the Imperials in Sarain would certainly be seeing a dramatic drop in their incomes now that the new Queen was an Imperial. 

"I will certainly have a dramatic effect on their privileges," Samash said tightly, as he scanned the list of names. "I am rather disappointed that they would try something so crude, though." 

Lord Cytesh shrugged. "They thought it would work, apologies, m'lady," he bowed slightly to Natseyah, "no research into the abilities of female knights, no memory of how m'lord here can react if he really puts his mind to it." 

"I shall certainly have to remind them of that now, shan't I?" Samash's voice was dangerously light. He finally seemed to notice the Tortallans. "My apologies, your Highnesses, you've met Lord Cytesh, I believe?" 

Roald replied that they had. The mood in the room seemed much lighter as Samash bade everyone to partake of the supper.   
  


"I hope that the unfortunate passing of my cousin will not affect the deep friendship that Maren and Tortall have always shared, Highnesses." Samash finally got Roald and Shinko alone in a quiet corner after the food had been cleared away. It seemed that his wife was having quite an influence on him – even relatively enlightened Easterners would not have made an effort to include the Crown Princess in such diplomatic chitchat – much to their disadvantage. 

"Our friendship has always been strong, Majesty," Roald replied. 

Everyone drank. 

"Though…" Samash began awkwardly, with an uneasy look at his wife, just a bit _too_ engrossed in her conversation with two highly trained killers. "…if you feel that closer ties are necessary…we do have a few spare relatives lying around somewhere…" he purposefully let the sentence trail away. 

Roald flickered a glance to Lianne, standing alone and looking out the window towards the tower where the Imperial delegation was quartered. 

"No…I don't think that will be necessary. The long and abiding friendship that has always existed between our lands already runs far deeper than any additional blood-tie could bind it." 

"As I thought, Highnesses. Pastries? My wife's fond of these little cream cheese filled ones, and I must confess that they're quite delightful…"   
  


"I've been thinking…" Yevgen trailed off the next morning as he and Kally took breakfast in their rooms. 

"About?" Kalasin prompted, spreading butter on a toasted roll. 

"Well, you know how we said that we wanted to make a fresh start in Sarain? Umm…do you think that we might have to take that into account when choosing names?" 

"We've already decided not to re-cycle any dead relatives," Kalasin told him. 

"No…I meant…how should I put this…have you any ideas for a surname? Or a House name? I mean, we've just been using each of ours, and that's fine for us – but there might be a few problems if we used one of those for the children." 

"True." Kalasin agreed. "It hadn't really crossed my mind. Whichever one of our names that we pick, someone is going to think that our families are trying to assert influence over Sarain. Plus, if we use yours, some bright spark in Bersone is going to decide that we're starting a cadet line for the Diadem, and we'll have even more problems with sharp knives and such." 

"Exactly." Yevgen poured both of them some tea. 

"It wouldn't be a good idea to bring back the Wilima name either," Kalasin mused, referring to her maternal grandfather, "too many bad memories." She shook her head. "We'll have to think of something, though."   
  
  


That morning, Princess Lianne went to ascertain something, for once and for all. He was in the stables, tending to his superior's horses as well as to his own. Kelvar turned around and bowed as soon as she entered the stables. 

No elegant conversation, no nervous dancing around the point this time. This time, she was direct. 

"Did you kill him?" 

Kelvar didn't bother to ask who she referred to. 

"You mean personally? No." A slight glow around both their fingers indicated that both were shielding against both magical and mundane eavesdroppers. 

"But you were here then." 

"Yes." 

No lying, just as there was no attempt to avoid the issue. 

"I can't deny that I am glad that he is dead, though." His voice was quiet, even with the added precautions they were taking. 

"So that he wasn't a bother to the Empress?" Lianne's voice, though equally quiet, radiated scorn. 

"No. So he wouldn't be a bother to you. That it was also convenient for the Empress was merely a happy coincidence. He would have died before Midwinter in any case. The Empress simply saved me some effort." 

Silence. 

"Would you do that for me every time, Sir Knight?" Lianne asked. 

"I could not bear to see you unhappy, Princess." 

Startled, Lianne looked up into his eyes (quite some distance), and saw only sincerity. Perhaps he did feel more than his duty for her, but it was not a risk that she was going to take. Of all the things that a princess owns, only her heart is truly her own – and she was not going to give it away to someone who would not give his in return. 

"I believe you. Thank you." She added softly, and made to leave the stables. 

"Princess…ah…I don't…I mean," Kelvar fumbled, slightly lost for words. 

Lianne stopped and turned around, looking at him expectantly. He drew himself up with a slight trace of apprehension. "Your Highness, I would ask – that we – ah – put aside my mistakes – and I would ask – if I may have your permission to pay my suit." 

Lianne almost refused, but then noted that he was a good deal more nervous than he let on. Even his superb training couldn't quite keep out the hope in his eyes. It was a risk, she knew it. But she was wiser than she had been in the spring. Warier. It was a risk that she was going to take. So she smiled and inclined her head in assent, before heading back to the main Palace, hoping that she hadn't missed breakfast. 

Behind her, the young man who would one day become one of the Empress Rislyn's most talented generals plotted his first, and some say, his greatest campaign.   
  
  


For what is there furthermore to say? 

You know already that their reign of King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin was long and prosperous. In the winter following this tale did they welcome their daughter and heiress into the world. They named her Lillias, she who was the first of the House of Haumaranté, the dynasty that was the rule Sarain for the Empresses for generations uncounted. Her surname took a great deal of thought from her parents. After Lillias they had a son, and another daughter. All inherited both the magics of their parents, much to the consternation of the Saren Court, especially when all graduated the Knights' Academy in Bersone – though none ever took part in the Display. 

Princess Lianne of Conté was married to Maggur Rathhausak by proxy after hasty negotiations between Tortall and Scanra designed to promote peace between the nations. The Scanrans were in disarray after a much-lauded incident involving the Lady Knight, Keladry of Mindelan, and their previously near-invincible war-machines, a story which lives forever in history and legend. Maggur never got to see if the beauty of his new bride was as extraordinary as he had been promised. He was killed in what was reported as a hunting accident barely three days after the wedding, before the princess had even packed her things for the journey north. Some sources claim that she never even bothered to order new clothes or new travelling trunks, and that, contrary to expectation, she did not even try to delay or oppose the match. After his death, the Scanran clans once more fell to fighting among themselves, and only occasionally bothered their neighbours. 

After losing both fiancé and husband in such a short period, Princess Lianne did not have many suitors from the Eastern or Southern Lands, the Tortallan princess's ever-increasing beauty and her parents' power not quite overcoming to old superstition that bad luck comes in threes. She did marry, eventually, though later than many of her father's Council would have liked, a long and convoluted courtship that culminated in one of the most significant of the matches that took sons and daughters of noble houses of the Eastern and Southern Lands east to Sarain and across the Roof. The infusion of new blood, slight as it was, was sufficient to fill the magic-classes at the Academy with the Gift for many generations. 

The Princess Ishtar, daughter of the Empress Rislyn, was born earlier than expected, but two days before her cousin in Sarain. She was the Duxa Sexta in her year, and in the fullness of time, succeeded her mother to the Diadem, and, on the whole, ruled well. 

As for Queen Kalasin of Sarain, she who once dreamed of knighthood, put it aside as a girlish fantasy, and once refused it for she would not take an unearned honour? 

She got her dream. 

But that is another story, for another time.   
  
  


END 

  
  


PS: No, I'm not that cruel. The sequel to this is posted in 'Crossovers'. It's called 'A Meeting of Magics' and includes characters from Katherine Kurtz's Deryni books. I'm a bit uneasy about straying so far from TP's storyline, particularly as I haven't read 'Lady Knight' (it's not out here yet). 

PPS. Cameo appearance in either 'A Meeting of Magics' or a later story about Lillias for the first person who can work out the reasoning behind the new name for the Saren royal family (there is reasoning), and emails me at either lady_berenice@hotmail.com, or fhwon1@yahoo.com.au about it. Bonus points (and choice of cameo role) if anyone can spot how Maggur really died. 

_Author's notes: Thank you to everybody for sticking with this story for all 24 chapters, and especially to all those who reviewed. Again, I thrive on feedback, and you're more than welcome to email me if you spot any inconsistencies or such in the stories. I'd also like to thank everyone who has visited my homepage at www.geocities.com/fhwon1, and read my other stories._   
  



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